#and he tells her that hes glad she has that

[mwagneto]

hungarian/nomadic magyar tumblr circa 998AD dashboard simulator

🏞️ vándor-ló-979 Follow

not yall still spreading emese's foundation myth??? she literally claims she fucked a bird????? like either she's lying or she cheated and she's trying to cover it up or well. i dont even want to consider the third option

🪺 magánügyek Follow

tengri forbid women do anything???

735 notes

🦅 szél-könnyű-szárnyán-szállj Follow

okay im sick of the discourse let's do this.

8,572 notes

🐎 istván-rovására Follow

that took so long lmao -> !!!!!!!∧◇ᛏ⋈∧

481 notes

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

i'm so serious rn if you support """istván""" in any way just unfollow and block me. we do NOT need him or his dumbass god and what he's been doing to our people to spread his religion is shameful.

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

btw we all know your real name is vajk stop larping as a christian it's EMBARRASSINGGGG

✝️ esztergom-örökké Follow

love seeing my mutuals reblogging this /s anyway op has multiple posts on their blog supporting quartering and human sacrifice. in case you were wondering. anyway stand with István

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

1) we dont even do human sacrifices, are you fucking stupid??? show me ONE post where i talk about that. 2) are you seriously forgetting that your bestie istván LITERALLY QUARTERED HIS UNCLE?????

#sorry to put this dumbass on the dash😭 dont even engage just block them #ur not making it up the tree of life lmao #discourse

3,264 notes

🌅 bolygó-kárpáti Follow

friendly reminder that just because you're white passing doesn't mean you're not a real magyar!! people with mixed parents are just as valid <3

🏇 attila-népe Follow

cranky coz ur ancestors decided to mix with the europeans arent you

🧺 lemezelő Follow

isnt your girlfriend literally frankish????

🏇 attila-népe Follow

you had to have done some serious stalking to find that💀 and first of all i didn't have a choice, my parents picked the tribe, and second of all she's not my "girlfriend" i got her via ritual kidnapping (WITH consent. before anyone gets weird)

🌐 a-kiber-kovács Follow

Couldn't you have kidnapped another magyar woman? Or someone from another mongoloid tribe?

🔅 hadúrsimp Follow

ohh sure so now human pet guy is gonna chime in to advocate for the kidnapping of our women while being lowkey racist. what are you even doing on nomadblr????

🌅 bolygó-kárpáti Follow

what the fuck happened to my post

19,276 notes

🪔 rakabonciás Follow

for the nth time, you're only a true shaman if you were born with teeth OR with extra fingers OR in the sac. the rest of you are faking & we can tell.

🦅szél-könnyű-szárnyán-szállj Follow

okay people keep spreading this but this is literally just wrong?? like congrats on the 6 fingers op im glad u and Little Golden Father have a special connection (genuinely) but like. táltos and sámán and mágus and garabonciás and javas etc are all different things with completely different requirements and life paths which you should definitely know if you're claiming to be one?? especially since your post says shaman but you're listing the criteria for a táltos, and your username looks like a play on garabonciás so. which is it🤔 maybe get your facts in order before trying to gatekeep

anyway don't listen to op!! your connection to the Upper World is yours alone and you're the best judge of what the Fathers and Mothers want your path in life to be!!

646 notes

🛐 mea-culpa Follow

It breaks my heart that the majority of my people still refuse to see the One True God and insist on sticking to their pagan spirits. I fear that when judgement day comes, we will all be wiped out thanks to their foul godless ways.

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

how tf am i godless when i literally have dozens of gods? little mothers and little fathers are in everything all around us & it must suck ass to live in a world where you're not surrounded by the small gods that inhabit everything. manifesting that the fene and the guta tag team beat your ass tonight

🔅 hadúrsimp Follow

hadúr will literally strike op down personally. he told me himself. whispered it to me sweetly even

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

while i agree with you, i feel like you might also have ulterior motives, nomadblr user hadúrsimp

#but live your truth! doubly so on the posts of these freak repressed bible lovers. meanwhile on the #COOL side of magyarhood we walk around butt ass naked!!! op have fun never experiencing joy ever again tho #discourse

198 notes

👑 sanctus-stephanus Follow

posting from an alt so i don't get cancelled but lowkey i'm starting to think koppány was right.... maybe this christianity thing isn't gonna work out after all

👑 sanctus-stephanus Follow

WRONG BLOG

👑 sanctus-stephanus Follow

THIS WAS A JOKE. IGNORE THIS

🪺 magánügyek Follow

ISTVÁN????????????? 💀

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: One Shot

Series Masterlist

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: E

A/N: I missed them, so here you go ❤ one million bajillion thanks to @bageldaddy for looking this over and for typing the words "do a crux check, I think it's here like five times". She was right, as she often is 😌

--

The brothers ride in silence, snow crunching under the hooves of their horses. Everything covered in a fresh blanket of white, they leave fresh tracks behind them as they make their way towards the gates. 

“You gonna tell me what your problem is?”

Joel glowers, his grip tightening on the reins. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Tommy smirks, a white cloud of heat puffing from his nose. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

A muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks, but he says nothing. He shifts in the saddle, his thighs squeezing to spur his horse on faster.

It’s fuckin’ cold, and his knees ache. 

“I think you scared ‘em,” Tommy says, flicking his chin towards the two riders behind them. The boys – new to patrol – give them ample space, their skinny frames swathed in coats in their seat in the saddle. “Just about tore their heads off every time they made a mistake.”

“They shouldn’t be makin’ em,” Joel replies easy. 

Tommy laughs. “Like you never made a mistake in your life.”

Joel shakes his head, squinting at the brightness of the fresh snow. Each night has brought a fresh few inches, and he wonders if the kids have been outside in it. He pictures them making snow men, building forts. The snowball fight they had last week with the neighbor kids comes to mind, and a warmth fills up inside of him. Snow wasn’t a thing for him when he was growing up – not in Texas – and he’s glad they get to experience it. 

Even if it’s cold as shit. 

He pictures the front window of the house, the warm glow it would cast across the snow as darkness falls. You in the kitchen, maybe, and the constant movement of the kids. The image invites him even from beyond the gates, and sighs. 

Tommy continues to poke, in the way that only little brothers can. 

“Oh, I get it. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

Joel frowns. “Since what?”

“Since you got some alone time. With your wife.”

Tommy’s eyes are bright with teasing, and Joel would normally rise to the occasion – but he doesn’t have it in him. Instead he gives his little brother a sidelong glance. 

Tommy chuckles. “I knew it.” 

“Hard with all the kids in the house all the time,” Joel grumbles. “Always underfoot, never giving us a moment’s peace.”

“Seems like every time you get a moment’s peace, you end up with another kid, brother. Maybe it’s a good thing.”

Joel shakes his head again, the edge of his mouth lifting for the first time in days. 

“It does, doesn’t it,” he says, and Tommy laughs. 

“Let me take those little monsters for you,” he offers. “Maria’s been wanting to see them anyhow, and then maybe you won’t walk around anymore lookin’ like you wanna fight anyone who steps in your path.”

Joel scoffs, though he doesn’t argue. 

The gates of the settlement come into view, the guard towers built along the top capped with mounds of snow. He pictures the bustle of people that will appear when the gates open – the mess hall, the stables, the familiar facade of the town he’s come to recognize as home. And somewhere, in all that, you.

His mind strays to the image of your face: your beautiful, soft smile, the warmth of your body that he’s missed at night. Weighted heat builds low in his hips, and he begins to thicken underneath his fly. 

“Goddamnit,” he mutters. 

It really has been too fucking long. 

“Tonight,” he says to Tommy, giving him a look. “Can you take ‘em tonight?”

Tommy grins.

–

Joel needs to see the little monsters first. 

He needs to listen to June’s endless chatter as she curls up next to him on the couch, wants to see Hank play with his trucks on the carpet, needs the weight of Dolly sleeping body on his chest. His lips brush her downy curls, and he relaxes into the cushions of the couch, surrounded by his children. 

“Yea, darlin’” to June, and “tell me more, bud” to Hank and murmurs of “hey, sleepy girl” to Dolly. 

His head tips back against the couch, his eyes closing for a second. 

“You gonna make it, old man?” you tease, tucking a sleeper into the backpack in front of you. A teddy next, a blanket following it. 

He turns his head to look at you, and his eyes slip down your body and back up again. He’s been half hard since the second he pressed a fleeting kiss to your mouth in greeting when he walked in the door.

“I’ll show you old man once these kids leave.”

Your movement halts for a split second, and the corner of his lips tip up as you start to pack faster.

–

You’re still tidying the kitchen when he gets back from Tommy’s. 

“I thought I would have more time,” you frown, scooping up the dinner plates to set them in the sink. He stands at your back, his hands curling around your hips to pull you close. His mouth brushes along the column of your neck, his beard tickling your skin. “I wanted to be upstairs, waiting for you. Assuming you’re still up for–”

He turns you, cutting off your sentence with the press of his mouth. 

It’s been so fucking long. So long since you’ve really kissed him, too long since you felt his strong grip, too long since you’ve done anything more than a peck here and there between the daily chaos of life. Patrol, the green house, your duties around town, the kids – too many nights have gone by with you falling asleep on the couch while he picks away at his guitar, or collapsing into bed together the second the kids turn in. 

You’ve missed him, and you can tell by the way he kisses you, he’s missed you as well. 

His deep kiss lingers until he breaks it, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Dance with me, honey.”

A smile curls at the edge of your lips. “There isn’t any music.” 

“Never stopped you before,” he replies, kissing the corner of your mouth, guiding your arms to wrap around his neck. 

Every time he mentions your time at the cabin, a sweet ache blooms in your chest. A time when it was just the two of you, nothing to exist on but the sustenance found in each other. A private, tender time, full of intimacy and closeness, of quiet peace in a world filled with anything but. It’s not like you miss it compared to the safety of Jackson, but…sometimes you do. 

You’re reminded of it in the mornings, with his warmth curled along your spine, his nose tucked into the nape of your neck. 

You’re reminded of it when you work alone in the garden, the kids down for their naps. 

And you’re reminded of it now, as he turns the two of you slowly in a room with no music. 

Drawing him in, you bring his mouth to yours. You lean into his sturdiness and breathe him in, your fingers slipping into the curls at the nape of his neck, and he sighs, melting under your touch. 

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss and his hands cup your cheeks, his fingertips brushing against the curve of your jaw. Shuffling his feet forward, he guides you towards the counter until the edge of it presses into the small of your back. His mouth moves with more intent, and the toe of his boot nudges your feet apart, making room for himself between your thighs. 

“Upstairs?” you mumble against his full mouth, and he shakes his head. 

“Right here.”

The husk in his voice makes your eyes flutter shut, an instant liquid heat pooling in the cradle of your hips. It intensifies when his hand takes your own and he slides it down his torso, your fingers brushing over his belt buckle. Lower still, and he wraps your fingers around the heft of his cock, clearly outlined through his jeans. 

His hips buck forward into your touch, and a soft moan breaks free of your throat. 

“You really did need it bad, huh?” you tease, a breathless thing dripping with your own want. 

“So bad, honey. So bad.”

His fingers work the button of your pants open, and you start doing the same to his belt buckle until he swats your hands away, and starts tugging at your pants and underwear. Kneeling, he drags them over the curve of your ass and down your legs, his mouth laving hot kisses along the front of your thighs as he helps you step out of the fabric. 

“Joel, your knees. Baby, get off the floor.”

He pays you no mind, his hands forcing you up onto the counter. Spreading your thighs, he shifts closer until his mouth hovers right over where you need him the most: your gleaming, soaked center. 

“Fuck my knees,’ he groans, leaning in for a kiss. 

Your head tips back against the cabinet with a small thud, your fingers pushing through his hair. You flex your hold, the strands silky underneath the palm of your hand, and he lets out a muffled groan into your center, smearing his tongue flat up the center. He slides it over the pearl of your clit, circling the bud a few times as his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs. He laps at your clit, taps it with the tip of his tongue, slides his tongue around and then over it, over it, over it and when you start to rock your hips against his mouth, he latches onto it with a gentle suck. 

“Oh God,” you breathe, your hooded gaze fixed on the crown of his dark curls. His brow furrows in concentration and pleasure, his whiskers catching the delicate skin on your inner thighs and when he presses himself even closer to bury the bottom half of his face, you arch your hips up to meet him. His hand slides up your side in a weighty drag and palms your breast in a full handed hold, giving it a squeeze as he sucks harder. Focusing on the pebbled peak he feels underneath your shirt, his thumb drags over the bud and you feel it between your legs, in time with the steady licks of his tongue. 

Your thighs start to tremble against his cheeks, and his hand curls around the bottom of your knee, pushing your leg up to rest your heel on the counter. The position spreads you wide open for him, something he takes advantage of to slip two thick fingers into your soaked core. They fit in snug to the knuckle; your other leg crooked over his shoulder with a tense hold as he starts to stroke a spot deep inside. His full touch tucks tight against your walls, the pressure paired with the wet glide of his tongue tips you over the edge of your release, your moan joining the sound of his. 

His knees crack when he stands, and his lips slide against yours. His mustache and chin are damp with you, your taste in his kiss and you deepen it, winding your legs around the back of his thighs to pull him closer. He palms your bare ass, grinding his denim covered crotch against your slick curls. His movements get faster, more desperate, and then he pulls back, his gaze dropping down to watch as you roll your hips into his. 

“If you don’t stop, honey, I’m gonna fuck you right here on this counter.”

His words are a low threat, that rumbles from his chest, his eyes never leaving the crux of your thighs. 

“Do it.” 

Your own gaze is fixed on the bulge behind his fly; your cunt an empty, needy thing. You know just how well he fits, just how good it feels when he slides inside. Snug and thick and filling and your eyes close, a frown pulling at your delicate features. 

“Please.”

“If I start here, I won’t be able to stop. I wanna lay you out.” He leans forward, crowding you against the cabinets. “I wanna fuck you too hard for this counter top. I want you too much.”

The words make your stomach drop with need, and you grab his face to pull him in for a frantic, consuming kiss before pushing him back so you can slide off the counter. You can feel him right on your heels as you race up the stairs, a laugh bursting from you when he slaps your ass on the way up. He rushes you through the bedroom door, his hands already grabbing at your remaining clothes. 

“Come on, mama. Take that shirt off for me.”

“You first,” you reply, tugging at his blue button down. The snaps pop open in a straight line down his chest, and he tugs it off, flinging it onto the floor. You strip with him: first your top, then your bra. Sliding onto the bed naked, you watch him peel his jeans down his legs. His briefs go next, and your thighs part to make room for him as he crawls on the bed to join you. 

Your bodies are a tangle of limbs lying sideways across the bed, his mouth presses against yours the same time his hand dives down to line himself up. The crown of his cock slips right in, and his hips drive forward, forcing you open around him. 

“Joel,” you moan, your eyes closing tight. 

In the cabin, sunlight pouring through the window across your writhing body, his shoulders between your thighs and his face buried at the crux. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good. So good,” he breathes, rocking his hips against yours. 

In the woods, the bark of a tree rhythmically scraping against your back, the hot pant of his breath across your skin. 

His low groans blend with your softer, higher pitch ones as your fingers dig into the meat of his ass to force him deeper. 

Clothing scattered on the bank; shadows scattered across the rounds of your bare shoulders as you ride him, taking him inside you again, and again. 

Heady need blooms behind your belly button, your toes curling as your heels dig into the back of his thighs, and every rock of his hips against yours is a filling stroke, a smooth slide forward and back. Whole is what you feel – pressed underneath the weight of his body, the heat of his skin flush with yours, his cock filling every last open inch that belongs to him. 

Threading your fingers through the gray at his temple, the open, pleading expression on your face tells him everything he needs to know. 

“You gonna come again, honey?”

You nod frantically, the roll of your hips picking up pace. Your nipples tighten against his chest, the hair there scraping each sensitive peak. He braces himself above you, his fists curling into the bedding as he fucks you harder, deeper. 

A shudder slips through his solid frame as he watches you come underneath him, and his hips stutter, a deep, reluctant groan rumbling from his chest as he pulls out. Sitting back on his heels, his fist works his cock with an audible, slick pump. 

“Where do you want it this time?”

It’s a question he asks now. Jackson has birth control methods, but with scarce supplies, they aren’t something you can always get your hands on. Condoms are more readily available, but you hate the thought of a barrier between the two of you. 

Instead, you push your breasts together in a silent invitation, and shift closer to him, positioning his cock right above your chest. The view of his broad chest and strong shoulders has you biting your lip, his arm flexing as he pumps his thick cock filling your vision and your thighs squeeze shut, even though you are more than satisfied. 

“Play with ‘em, honey,” he begs, his deep voice straining. 

You do, and with one of his hands wrapped around his cock and the other gripped white around the top of the headboard, he comes in spurts across your chest. You keep playing, smearing the milky pools across the tops of your breasts, circling the tight buds of your nipples until they are glistening peaks as he works every last drop out of his cock, and sated, his frame finally relaxes. 

“Jesus,” he sighs, dropping down on the bed to lay next to you. 

You roll onto your side, your skin damp with his release. His pulse is a steady drum underneath his skin, his cheeks are flush with heat, and the gray along the curve of his jaw stands out even more in the dim lighting of the bedroom. He’s older now, the physical signs more visible. Lines that surround his eyes, more gray threaded throughout his hair — but his hunger is the same. Still the same needy, firm grip love that you’re used to; his calloused hands sliding over your skin. Your gaze slips down his strong profile, lingering on his parted lips and you shift closer to him, tucking yourself closer.

He cracks an eye open to look at you, a dimple appearing in his cheek when he grins. Rolling onto his side, he faces you, slinging the weight of his arm over your waist. 

Your fingers brush along his collarbone, and for the first time in days, you feel yourself fully relax. 

You know patrol is part of the many pieces keeping this community together, but you’ll never get used to being separated, not fully. You’re half of a whole when he’s gone; half of your heart venturing out into the dangerous world. You’re tense from the second he heads out to the stables until the moment you see him through the front door. 

With him finally home, you breathe him in, curling closer. Right where you belong. 

His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, and you smile. 

“You’re so beautiful, honey.” His nose skims along yours, his lips brushing over your cheek. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. It’s hard to sleep without you here.”

The kiss he gives you is slower this time, more lush. His mouth molds against yours, savoring your familiar taste and you swallow his soft groan down, holding him close. He starts to fade, his kisses slowing into lingering, soft presses. 

Rain sliding against the window, flashes of lightning illuminating his profile. 

His mouth stops, his eyes fluttering shut. He sleeps the way you never saw him sleep on the trail, the way he was never afforded before the cabin either. The way he probably couldn’t while on patrol, either. 

A book resting open and face down on his chest, his breathing steady and deep. 

A bone-deep sleep, sated and safe. 

Still, when your thumb skates across his full bottom lip, his mouth purses – an unconscious kiss, even from the depths of his slumber. His hand flexes, smoothing over your skin. 

Reaching for the light, you click it off, and pull the quilt over the two of you. 

Another worn quilt, another bedroom. 

Tucking your face into the space between his chin and chest, you close your eyes.

[randomdragonfires]

Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did | Part Three

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | The music blares and everyone’s out of it, but she turns and sees him. Detached from it all, Aemond stands on the balcony with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips - watching the party unfold, watching her. The realization hits her as their eyes meet.

It’s him. It’s always been him. 

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Non-Con and Violence Elements; Use of Substances and Alcohol; Complicated Relationship Dynamics.

PAIRINGS | Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader [MAIN]; Modern!Daeron Targaryen x Reader

WORD COUNT | 24.5k [I'M SORRY]

Check out the art created for this fic by the lovely, talented and so very kind @azperja here!  

A/N | By now it's obvious. I really don't beta read things -_-

She starts with small changes. 

She takes different routes around campus, chooses study spots on the opposite end of the library, and declines any parties where she might run into him. They’re usually in different parts of the campus anyway, so avoiding him should be easy. But it isn’t. They run in the same circles, and all her friends know him. She has to be mindful, strategic, careful not to linger in places where their paths might cross.

The one shared class they have is her biggest challenge. She slips into the lecture hall just as the professor begins, taking a seat in the back, hidden among the sea of students. She keeps her head down, her attention fixed on her notes, refusing to let her eyes wander to where she knows he’s sitting.

But she feels his presence, even without looking. She can sense the way his gaze lingers on her, like a weight pressing on her shoulders. It takes every ounce of her willpower to ignore it, to pretend she doesn’t notice, that she isn’t affected by it. She keeps her mouth shut, barely even acknowledging the professor, just so Aemond won’t have a reason to notice her.

But he’s seen her. She knows he has. And yet, he hasn’t made any attempt to approach her. He hasn’t tried to talk to her after class, hasn’t texted, hasn’t even sent a cryptic message through a mutual friend.

The silence from him is both a relief and a torment. On one hand, she’s grateful that he’s giving her space, that he’s not forcing her to confront what happened. But on the other, she can’t help but wonder why. Why hasn’t he reached out? Does he understand that she needs space, or is he simply indifferent?

The conflicting thoughts whirl around her mind, making it impossible to focus. She’s avoiding him, yet she can’t stop thinking about him. She wonders if he’s reached the same conclusion she has - that whatever happened between them was a mistake. Or maybe… maybe the girl he’s seeing is back, and he’s realized that what they had was a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment that he regrets.

The thought makes her skin crawl.

It stings more than she’d like to admit. It’s ridiculous, she tells herself. She should be glad that he’s keeping his distance. It’s what she wanted, after all. But the doubts creep in, feeding the anxiety that’s been gnawing at her ever since that night.

Her finals don’t help either. The pressure to perform well, to maintain her grades, is a vice around her chest. She spends long hours in the library, her nose buried in textbooks, trying to drown out her thoughts with the relentless march of deadlines and exam schedules. But he is a constant presence at the back of her mind, and she cannot shake him off.

The final exam of the semester passes in a blur, each answer she scribbles onto the paper feeling more mechanical than the last. When it’s over, she walks out of the exam hall with a numbness that clings to her. The weight of the past weeks - the stress, the sleepless nights, the constant battle to keep her emotions in check - finally catches up with her.

She spends the entire day holed up in her flat, the blinds drawn to keep out the bright summer light. The silence is thick, the hours stretching on as she flits from one distraction to another. She tries reading, but the words blur together on the page. She turns on the laptop, but the shows barely hold her attention. Even scrolling through her phone feels empty.

As the afternoon fades into evening, a slow realization dawns on her: she can’t keep hiding forever. The exams were a temporary distraction, an excuse to avoid dealing with everything she’s been running from. But now that they’re over, she’s left with nothing but her thoughts - and the gnawing certainty that she can’t keep avoiding Aemond.

He’s likely finished his exams too, probably somewhere out there, living his life as if nothing’s changed. The thought brings a fresh wave of frustration. He hasn’t reached out to her, hasn’t made the slightest effort to clear the air.

It’s almost as if he’s content to let things remain as they are. But she's not.

The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that waiting for him to make the first move is futile. He’s not going to reach out, not after the way she’s been avoiding him. And maybe he’s thinking the same thing - that she doesn’t want to see him, that she’s already moved on.

The idea of confronting him terrifies her, but the thought of continuing on like this - of pretending that she can keep dodging him forever - is worse. She can’t live in this self-imposed exile, trapped by her own fears and doubts. If there’s any hope of moving past this, of getting closure, she needs to take the first step.

With a deep breath, she makes up her mind. The decision brings a strange sense of calm, like a weight being lifted from her chest. She can’t predict how it will go, but at least she’ll be taking control, no longer at the mercy of her own avoidance.

The evening sky outside her window is turning shades of pink and orange, and for the first time in days, she feels a spark of determination. She’s not going home for the summer, and neither, as far as she knows, is he.

There’s no more running, no more hiding.

Her eyes settle on Aemond - sprawled across his bed, completely at ease, as if he’s got not a care in the world.

The familiar scent hits her first - weed, strong and pungent, curling through the air and invading her senses. She pauses at the threshold, taking it in, before leaning against the doorway.

He doesn’t notice her at first. He’s too absorbed in the book he’s holding, his fingers lazily turning a page. She can’t make out the title, but she recognizes the Valyrian text on the cover, the ancient script curling elegantly along the spine.

For a moment, she watches him. There’s a strange, almost surreal quality to the scene - like she’s an outsider looking in on his life. His face is calm, his expression softened in the dim light, but there’s a tension in his posture, a quiet restlessness that she can’t quite place.

“So this is what you do when you’re high? Read Valyrian books?”

“They’re interesting,” he replies, his voice casual, detached. He doesn’t look at her, his eye still roving over the page, words spilling out as if she wasn’t there. Almost as if they hadn’t been icing each other out for weeks.

She doesn’t know what to say. The weight of their silence presses heavily down on her chest. She hesitates, her mind racing, but before she can form a coherent thought, he gestures toward her, a lazy wave of his hand as he adjusts himself on the bed.

“Come here.”

It’s not a request; it’s a command, spoken with the kind of casual authority that’s so inherently him. She swallows hard, the tension in her stomach coiling tighter. Part of her wants to resist, to stay rooted in place, but there’s another part of her - smaller, more vulnerable - that aches for the familiarity of being close to him again.

She pushes off the doorway, her steps slow and hesitant as she crosses the room. The air feels warmer near him, the scent of weed and smoke mingling with the faint smell of his cologne, a combination that’s both comforting and disorienting. When she reaches the bed, she pauses, unsure of what to do, where to sit, what to say.

Aemond looks up at her then, his gaze locking onto hers. There’s something different in his eye now, something softer, more aware. It’s like he’s really seeing her for the first time since she walked in.

He nods and she gives in, sitting down beside him, the mattress dipping under her weight. There’s a tension between them, a fragile thread that could snap at any moment, but for now, it holds.

She hesitates for a moment, then slowly lies down next to him, feeling the warmth of his body radiate through the thin fabric of her shirt. He doesn’t say anything, just shifts slightly to make room for her, and as she curls into the mattress, he slips an arm around her waist, pulling her in closer.

His hand rests on her side, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns on her skin through the fabric, the movement steady and soothing. She feels his breath against her hair, steady and calm, and for a moment, she closes her eyes, allowing herself to melt into him.

She takes her time, letting her gaze drift over him, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. The book is still in his other hand, balanced carefully as he continues to read, the pages illuminated by the dim light of the bedside lamp. He’s so absorbed in it, yet his hold on her is firm, as if he’s anchoring both of them to this moment, this shared silence.

She shifts slightly, her head resting on his shoulder as she glances at the book in his hand. “What are you reading?”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers stilling on the page as he looks down at her. “It’s called The Last Embrace.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

He chuckles softly at her remark, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through his chest. "It’s a Valyrian classic," he says. “I know someone who can find the premium first edition copies.”

“Hm.” She moves into him, and his hand roves over her clothed back, warmth seeping through. She nestles against him, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. “Read to me?” She asks softly, almost shyly, as if the request might shatter her pride.

He considers her for a moment, then gently adjusts his position, making sure she’s comfortable as he continues from where he left off. With his arm still wrapped around her, holding her close, he begins to read. The words flow from his lips - his voice deep and rich as it carries and fills the quiet space between them. She listens, captivated by the way he brings the story to life.

One word in particular catches her attention, its lilting syllables intriguing. She stops him, her gaze curious. “What does that mean?”

He looks down at her, his gaze tender and slightly dazed. “Gevie means ‘beautiful,’” he explains, his tone mellowed by a subtle high. She repeats the word, her attempt tentative. “Gevie.” Her pronunciation falters, and he gently corrects her, his voice a soothing murmur. “Gevie,” he reiterates, his lips curving into a soft smile.

She tries again, her voice more confident, “Gevie,” and he nods in approval, his hand squeezing lightly on her arm, a touch that sends a shiver down her spine.

The reading continues, and she’s captivated by another word. 

“Jorrāelagon,” she asks. “And this one?”

“It means ‘love.’” He replies, his eyes soft and hazy, the high giving his voice a languid quality that almost lulls her to sleep. She echoes. “Jorrāelagon,” but her pronunciation is awkward at the first try. He guides her gently, his voice dropping as he enunciates the word.

 “Jorrāelagon.”

She repeats the word again, and he nods, pleased. She doesn’t want to dwell on how pleasing him feels.

When they reach 'Vūjigon', she leans in closer, her curiosity and desire blending seamlessly. “What does this one mean?”

“To kiss,” he murmurs, his gaze growing more intense. She wonders if she’s seeing the slight red on his cheeks, or if it’s actually there. She repeats, “Vūjigon,” her pronunciation faltering again. He corrects her, his voice a velvety whisper.

As she practices the word, the anticipation builds between them. Her body shifts, aligning with his, and she straddles him, her movements deliberate and sensual. The mattress dips under her weight, and she feels the heat of his body radiate through the thin fabric of their clothes. His hands find her sides, gripping firmly but tenderly, his touch sending electric currents through her skin. She leans in closer, their foreheads touching, and she inhales deeply. The scent of his cologne mixes with the distinct smell of the weed. The high he's on adds a dream-like quality to his touch and his gaze, making every sensation more vivid and intense.

“Vūjigon,” she whispers, her voice husky with desire. The correct pronunciation flows from her lips, and the air between them is heated and heavy.

His eye darkens with desire as he gazes at her, the effect of the high amplifying his senses. He responds to her unspoken invitation, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that is both urgent and tender. The kiss deepens quickly as his hands move to her waist, pulling her closer, the heat of his touch igniting a fire within her.

His hands tighten on her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she can feel the hard line of his desire pressing against her. The sensation sends a shudder through her, a wave of heat that pools low in her belly.

This is happening, this is truly happening-

His kisses are a heady mix of passion and need, his tongue exploring her mouth with a fervor that leaves her breathless. She responds in kind, her own desire spiraling out of control as her fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently as she presses herself against him. The weight of him beneath her, the feel of his body so close, so real, is intoxicating.

With a low, rough sound in the back of his throat, he flips them over, his body covering hers, pressing her into the mattress. His hands are everywhere - roaming her sides, cupping her breasts, sliding down to grip her hips. The urgency of his movements is matched by the haze of the high, adding a surreal, almost dream-like quality to the moment.

She arches into him, her back curving as she seeks more of his touch, more of the heat that’s building between them. His mouth leaves hers, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, until he’s tugging her shirt aside, his lips finding the sensitive skin beneath. Every touch, every kiss, feels amplified, the high making her hyper-aware of every sensation.

He’s moving with purpose now, his hands tugging at the waistband of her pants, sliding them down her hips with a practiced ease. She helps him, kicking them off, leaving her bare beneath him. He follows quickly, discarding his own clothes until there’s nothing between them but heated skin.

His hands are back on her, rough and gentle all at once as he positions himself between her thighs. She feels the blunt pressure of him at her entrance, the anticipation so sharp it almost hurts. She meets his gaze, his eyes dark and blown with lust, the effect of the high making them seem even more intense. He pauses, just for a moment, his breath ragged. “I’m on the pill,” she murmurs, as if sensing his hesitation.

He thrusts into her with a single, powerful stroke.

The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that has her gasping, her hands clutching at his shoulders as he fills her completely. He stills for a moment, letting her adjust, his forehead pressing against hers as he takes a shuddering breath.

Then he’s moving, his hips snapping against hers in a rhythm that’s fast and unrelenting. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure shooting through her, the friction, the heat, the intensity of it all pushing her closer to the edge. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her own hips meeting his in a desperate attempt to keep up with the pace he’s set.

His breathing is ragged in her ear, a rough counterpoint to the smoothness of his movements. She can feel him tensing, the way his thrusts grow more erratic, more desperate, as he nears his own release. His hand moves between them, fingers finding her clit and rubbing in tight, precise circles, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

With a low growl, he slams into her one last time, his body tensing as he comes hard, the force of his orgasm shaking him. He rides it out, his hips still moving in shallow thrusts as he chases the last remnants of pleasure.

But he doesn’t stop. Even as his breathing slows, his hands remain on her, one sliding down her body until his fingers are slipping between her folds, finding the wet heat there. He pulls out of her slowly, and she whimpers at the loss, but the sound quickly turns to a moan as his head dips between her thighs.

His mouth finds her, his tongue licking a slow, teasing stripe up her center before his lips close around her clit. He sucks gently, his fingers pressing inside her, filling her again as he works her with a relentless, skillful rhythm. She’s already so close, her body still buzzing from the intensity of what they’ve just done, and it doesn’t take long for the pleasure to build again, fast and unstoppable.

As his mouth works her, his tongue drawing her closer and closer to the edge, he lifts his head just enough to murmur against her skin, “Gevie… ao gevie issi, jorrāelagon.”

His voice is thick with desire, the words rolling off his tongue with a reverence that sends shivers down her spine. She’s too far gone to try and grasp the meaning, her mind clouded with the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving her. But something about the way he says it, the heat in his voice, makes her gasp.

“What… what does that mean?” she manages to ask between moans, her voice breathless, shaky.

He doesn’t answer right away, his mouth returning to her with renewed focus, his fingers curling inside her in just the right way. The pleasure is dizzying, her body trembling as she’s pushed closer to the brink. When he finally speaks again, his words are low and guttural, vibrating against her skin.

“Gevie… beautiful,” he says, his voice thick with lust as he looks up at her, his eye dark and filled with heat. “Jorrāelagon… love.” His hand moves in sync with his words, drawing more moans from her lips, her mind barely able to process the translations as the pleasure intensifies.

Her body arches into him, desperate for more, needing more, and he gives it to her, his fingers working her relentlessly. She’s on the edge, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps, when he murmurs one last word against her skin.

“Vūjigon,” he says, the word slipping from his lips like a caress, his voice deeper, rougher, as he lifts his head to look at her, his gaze burning into hers.

“Kiss,” she breathes, finally understanding, the realization sending a fresh wave of desire crashing over her. Her body moves of its own accord, her hips grinding against his fingers as she chases the release that’s just out of reach.

He doesn’t give her time to dwell on it, his mouth returning to her with a fervor that’s almost too much to bear. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and need that builds and builds until she’s teetering on the edge, her mind a haze. Her hips lift off the mattress, seeking more, needing more, and he gives it to her, his tongue and fingers moving in perfect harmony until she’s falling over the edge, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. She cries out, her hands fisting in his hair as he pushes her through it, his mouth never leaving her until she’s trembling with the aftershocks, her body spent and sated.

When he lays back down and his lips meet hers, she thinks there could be no better feeling than being held in his arms.

The fact that he may still have another woman in his life slips her mind completely.

Tonight, he is hers.

The morning after, he's gone off for an early class, leaving her to rest. She finds The Last Embrace on his nightstand and picks it up, her nimble fingers turning the pages as she scans his notes scattered throughout the book.

Love is a disease of the mind, but one we willingly suffer for.

It’s the kind of observation she can easily imagine him making aloud, his voice detached yet tinged with a subtle irony. She almost pictures him writing it, pausing to consider the implications of the passage before inscribing his thoughts with careful precision. It’s a stark reminder of how his mind works - always a step removed, always observing from a distance, even when he’s most deeply involved.

It’s so very Aemond, the way he can reduce something as chaotic and overwhelming as love to a mere intellectual curiosity, and yet, in doing so, reveal more about himself than any grand declaration ever could.

A small smile plays on her lips as she closes the book, gently smoothing the folded corner.

She least expects it, but it hits her with the force of a brick wall when it does.

She finds herself at Aemond's apartment again, perched on the familiar countertop in his kitchen, picking at a bowl of leftover pasta he’d casually reheated for her. Aemond stands at the stove, his attention focused on a kettle of water beginning to steam. He moves with his usual grace, every action deliberate and precise, but there’s something slightly different about him today—a subtle energy that she can’t quite place.

Almost offhandedly as he reaches for a mug, he speaks. “I might not be around tomorrow night. I’ve got…plans.”

He says it so casually, the words slipping out as though they’re of no consequence. But there’s a flicker of something in his tone, something that makes her glance up from her bowl, her curiosity piqued.

“Plans?” she echoes, trying to keep her voice light, nonchalant, though a strange tightness begins to form in her chest.

“Yeah,” he continues, filling the mug with hot water before turning back to her, his expression as composed as ever. “Dinner, actually. With someone.”

The way he says it - "with someone" - is so deliberately vague, so carefully chosen, that it sends a chill through her, the pieces beginning to fall into place. The quiet confidence in his voice, the way he doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t feel the need to explain. It’s a subtle giveaway, but one she can’t ignore.

“Oh,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping back to her bowl, her appetite suddenly fading. She forces herself to take another bite, though it tastes like ash in her mouth. “That sounds…nice.”

“Yeah,” he replies, his tone so matter-of-fact, so indifferent, that it stings more than anything else. “It should be.”

For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say, the silence between them suddenly feeling heavier, more oppressive. The realization settles in slowly, a painful clarity that makes her heart ache. To him, what they have is just…convenient.

He isn’t even trying to hide it. The ease with which he mentions his plans, the lack of any concern for how she might feel about it—it all points to one thing. 

Casual. Non-exclusive.

Then again, he made no promises.

The realization - reminder, if she was being practical - is a bitter pill to swallow, and she fights to keep her expression neutral, not wanting to betray the sadness that’s creeping into her. She allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to this. But now, sitting there on his countertop, she sees it for what it truly is.

“Enjoy your dinner,” she says, her voice sounding distant to her own ears as she pushes the half-eaten bowl away and slides off the counter. She offers him a small, strained smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Thanks,” he replies, his gaze flicking over her briefly before returning to the kettle, as if her words are of no particular importance.

As she moves to grab her bag, her movements slow and deliberate, Aemond turns to look at her. The casual indifference that colored his words just moments before falters when he sees the expression on her face - something distant, guarded, as though she’s trying to shield herself from the truth that’s just settled between them.

“You’re upset,” he says, not as a question but as a statement, his tone flat. He’s always so direct, so infuriatingly precise in his observations, as if everything in the world can be neatly cataloged and understood.

She hesitates, her back to him as she reaches for her bag, fingers brushing over the strap, but she doesn’t pick it up right away. She can feel his gaze on her, sharp and assessing, waiting for her to respond.

“It’s nothing,” she murmurs, forcing herself to keep her voice steady, even though the words feel like they’re sticking in her throat. “Just…you could’ve mentioned it before.”

There’s a beat of silence, the air between them taut with unspoken things. She knows he’s searching for the right words, something that won’t sound like an admission but also won’t deny the reality she’s trying to ignore.

“You always knew there was someone else,” he says finally, his voice low, almost gentle, as if that can soften the blow.

She swallows hard, her grip tightening on the strap of her bag as the truth of his words settles in. Of course, she knows. There’s always been something in the way he holds himself slightly apart from her, something that hinted at the boundaries she was never meant to cross. And yet, she crossed them anyway, hoping—foolishly—that maybe he would meet her halfway.

“Did I?” she asks quietly, her voice trembling just enough to give her away. She turns to face him then, her eyes searching his, looking for something - anything - that will contradict what he’s just said. But there’s nothing. His expression is calm, measured, as though they’re discussing something inconsequential.

He doesn’t answer, but the silence that follows is more telling than anything he could say. She can see it now, how he’s always been careful with her, careful not to let things go too far, careful not to give her any false hope.

But he never really needed to, did he? Because she already knew, deep down, that whatever they had was just a small part of his life - a convenience, a passing thing that will end the moment someone else comes along. Someone more important, more permanent.

She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, the sound heavy in the quiet of the kitchen. “Right,” she says, nodding to herself as if that will help make sense of everything. “I guess I did know.”

She hesitates, the words tasting bitter on her tongue as she adds, almost too casually, “Daeron texted about coming to Oldtown over the weekend. I probably have plans with him anyway.”

The silence that follows is suffocating, and when she dares to meet his gaze, she catches the subtle shift in his expression - a small, almost amused curl of his lips. It’s as if he can see right through her, peeling back the flimsy layers she’s tried to build around herself. The realization that he sees her so clearly, that he understands her attempts to guard herself, makes her feel smaller, more exposed than she ever intended.

His smile fades, replaced by something darker, more contemplative, and the weight of his gaze makes her want to shrink away, to hide from the way he’s dissecting her. He steps closer, the space between them shrinking to nothing as his presence looms large, overwhelming. She feels like she’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something that could shatter her if she’s not careful. But she doesn’t move, rooted to the spot by the intensity of his gaze, by the way he’s looking at her like he’s trying to decide if she’s worth the effort of breaking down completely.

The resignation in her voice must cut through him because he shifts, leaning back against the counter, his eyes never leaving hers. But he doesn’t move toward her, doesn’t try to reach out. It’s as if he knows that any attempt to comfort her now would only be hollow, empty of meaning.

She can smell the faint scent of the coffee still lingering on him, mixing with his cologne, and it makes her head swim, makes the room feel smaller, more suffocating. Everything feels too close, too real, and she needs to leave before she says something she can’t take back.

“Look, it’s fine,” she says quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I should get going anyway. I’ve got things to do.”

He doesn’t stop her. He just watches as she slings the bag over her shoulder, his gaze cool and detached, like he’s studying her, trying to understand why she’s making such a big deal out of something they both knew had an expiration date.

But just as she turns to leave, he reaches out, taking hold of her hand. The contact is brief, almost hesitant, but it’s enough to make her pause. There’s something in his touch—something that feels more like pity than affection. It twists in her chest, making her feel even smaller, more exposed.

“Take care,” he says, his voice polite, almost distant, as if the gesture was merely obligatory.

The words sting, made worse by the way he immediately lets go, his hand slipping away as if it never held hers at all. She walks away.

She pauses for a moment, hand on the doorknob, before glancing back at him. There’s so much she wants to say, but she knows it will all sound pathetic and desperate, and she refuses to let him see her like that.

“Yeah,” she replies softly, her heart aching in a way that feels almost physical. “You too.”

She sits on the edge of her sofa, her fingers idly tracing the patterns on the faded fabric. 

She stares at the shadows, feeling them stretch and distort, like her own thoughts, twisted and knotted.

The apartment is a mess - books splayed open, cold coffee mugs scattered about, and a half-burnt vanilla scented candle that hasn’t seen use in days. The quiet hum of the city outside the window is distant, almost surreal, as if it belongs to another world entirely. Inside, it’s as if time has stopped, leaving her in a stagnant pool of self-pity that she hates like nothing else.

Her mind drifts to Aemond. She can’t shake the image of him talking with his date. The warmth of his voice, the way his eyes subtly light up - it all feels so tangible, yet so out of reach. She imagines him in those moments of connection, and each thought pulls her deeper into the mire of her own emotions. The more she dwells on it, the more isolated she feels.

The room feels colder now, the silence pressing in on her from all sides. She wraps her blanket tighter, but it doesn’t offer much comfort. Her phone buzzes on the coffee table, jolting her out of her reverie. She hesitates, a mix of curiosity and apprehension swirling inside her. It’s probably not Aemond, she tells herself, but she can’t help the flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, it is.

She reaches for the phone, her hand trembling slightly. The screen lights up with Daeron’s name. She swipes to open it, her heart pounding as she sees the photo he’s sent. It���s Daeron at Oldtown Airport, his face lit up with a smile that seems to brighten the whole frame. A text follows.

Lunch tomorrow?

She smiles.

She waits outside Moonbloom, the café's warm, inviting light spilling onto the pavement. She watches as people bustle by, each face a fleeting moment in the urban blur. Her nerves are a tight knot, and she checks her phone for the umpteenth time, though she already knows Daeron will be on time. She hears his voice before she sees him.

"Hey," Daeron says, a smile tugging at his lips as he approaches. His eyes, as familiar as they are, carry a weight that wasn’t there before. They embrace awkwardly, and it makes her bristle.

Inside, the café is bustling with midday energy. They choose a corner table, its cozy atmosphere offering some solace from the crowd. Daeron settles into his seat, his movements slightly hesitant. She follows suit, their conversation initially faltering as they tiptoe around the more profound emotions that linger between them.

“So, um,” she begins, fidgeting with the menu, “have you been to this place before?”

“Not really,” Daeron replies, his fingers tapping nervously on his coffee cup. “I mean, I’ve passed by, but I’ve never actually been in. It’s...nice.”

“I love the way they’ve decorated it.”

Daeron looks around, taking in the mismatched furniture and the array of quirky knick-knacks. “Definitely. It’s kind of...charming. I guess I didn’t expect it to be this warm.”

She smiles, relieved to have found a neutral topic. “Yeah, it’s cozy. I come here when I need to get away from everything for a bit.”

“Sounds like it’s a good spot for that,” Daeron says, his voice warming slightly. “I could use a little escape myself.”

They both pause, a slight awkwardness settling over them. The menu sits between them, a practical distraction from the underlying tension. Daeron glances at it, his brow furrowing as he tries to decide.

“So, have you tried anything here that’s a must-have?” Daeron asks, attempting to steer the conversation back to safe ground.

She looks at the menu thoughtfully. “The avocado toast is really good, and the latte is pretty great too. It’s one of those places where you can’t go wrong with pretty much anything. Oh and they have a really good cheesecake!”

“Sounds good,” Daeron says, nodding as if making a mental note. “I’ll have to try both then.”

She chuckles softly, trying to ease the nervous energy between them. “You won’t regret it.”

The menu arrives, and they both laugh over the choices—an easy distraction from the real conversation they know is coming. They talk about trivial things first: the new book she’s reading, Daeron’s latest coffee obsession. The conversation is light, almost too light, as if they’re both waiting for the right moment to dive into the deeper waters.

As their meals arrive, Daeron takes a deep breath, his fingers absently tracing the edge of his coffee cup. “I didn’t realize how much I missed this. You.”

She looks up, surprised by the shift in tone. “Yeah, moving away does that to you.” 

Daeron’s gaze meets hers, a mixture of nostalgia and hesitation in his eyes. “It’s like, I’ve been so caught up in trying to manage everything that I forgot to appreciate these simpler things. I’ve been trying to figure out what really matters, and I think...I think that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

Her curiosity is piqued, the earlier awkwardness giving way to a more genuine connection. “What do you mean?”

Daeron hesitates, fiddling with the edge of his napkin as he searches for the right words. “Floris and me. You know, things seemed okay, but I was always looking for the next problem, the next thing that might go wrong. I never really stopped to appreciate what we had, or how well things were actually working.”

She listens intently, her eyes softening as she senses the depth of his struggle. “And?”

Daeron sighs, his gaze meeting hers with a sincerity that tugs at her heart. “I’ve realized that I need to take a step back and figure things out. It’s why I came to stay here for the next month. It’s not just about getting away from everything. It’s more about taking the time to understand myself better. I want to be in a better place for her - when I go back, I want to be someone who’s really ready.”

The café hums around them, the sounds of chatter and clinking cutlery providing a gentle backdrop to their conversation. She absorbs his words, feeling a mix of sadness and a surprising sense of relief. “You’re actually going to do this?” she asks quietly.

Daeron nods, a small, hopeful smile touching his lips. “Yeah, I think it’s what I need. Just some time to be with myself, to figure out what really matters. I want to make sure I’m not just rushing through life, looking for the next thing. I want to be present for her, for myself. You know?”

There’s something endearing about Daeron, who he’s grown into, and his willingness to admit he needs to take time for himself. It is eons ahead of the boy she knew. For a brief moment, she sees Aemond in him, and she takes a deep breath before she lets her thoughts carry her away.

“I think that’s really brave,” she says softly. “It’s not easy to take a step back and admit you need to sort things out.”

She wonders if her words are for him, or herself.

Your Starry Sept postcards are at my place.

The afternoon sun hits just right as they walk through the market with their condensing iced coffee cups in hand. The stalls around them are alive with the scent of fresh bread, spices and flowers. It’s been days since she’s seen Aemond, and she ignores his texts and any chance to see him like the plague.

They sip their coffee, exchanging easy smiles as they pass by vendors selling everything from handmade jewelry to antique trinkets. The atmosphere is relaxed, yet a tension lingers beneath the surface. Daeron, seemingly content, glances at her and notices a shift in her demeanor as they approach an antique store.

“What’s up with you?” he asks, his tone light. “You’ve been a bit...off today.”

Now more than ever, she hates how well the Targaryen brothers know her. Her heart skips a beat.

“Uh, it’s nothing,” she says, her voice a bit too high-pitched, betraying herself. “Just...a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Daeron raises an eyebrow, his concern deepening. “Come on… We’ve known each other long enough. You can tell me if something’s bothering you.”

She looks away, her eyes darting over the colorful array of vintage items displayed in the store’s window. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The prospect of confessing her recent history with Aemond is daunting, especially since she had poured out her feelings to Daeron not so long ago.

If anything, it makes it all feel a lot less valid if she thinks of it that way.

“It’s a bit complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

The question hangs in the air, and Wylde feels a lump form in her throat. She swallows hard, weighing the consequences of her next words. She recalls the emotional turmoil she experienced when she admitted her feelings for Daeron and how vulnerable she felt. The idea of now revealing that she’s been seeing Aemond—his brother, no less—feels like an insurmountable hurdle.

She takes another sip of her coffee, trying to buy time. “It’s just...I don’t know how to explain it. There’s been some...changes, you know?”

Daeron looks at her intently, sensing her hesitation. “Look, if you’re not ready to talk about it, that’s okay.” Her heart aches at his genuine concern. She knows she should be honest, but the fear of how Daeron will react clouds her judgment. She finally meets his gaze, the weight of her secret pressing heavily on her shoulders.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s...complicated.”

Daeron’s expression shifts from concern to confusion. “Someone? Who?” She sees his frown lift into a smile.

“Who… that’s not relevant.” 

Before he can interrupt and charm Aemond’s identity out of her, she continues. “He was already with someone, but I caught feelings for him anyway. Then we hooked up, and I worry that I just…”

“You worry that you’ve made a mistake.”

“Among other things. I…” She sighs. “I just want someone that’s mine, you know? It is a bit of a shame that the boys I like always belong to someone else.”

He chuckles. “I’m going to ask you to think well and be honest. Do you know him well enough?”

“Very well.”

“Do you think he’s the type to cheat?”

“Definitely not.”

“And did you ask him about this? What he wants from you, and what his situation with the other person is like?”

“I guess.”

“And what did he say?”

“He made no promises. He said I always knew there was someone else. I… I messed up. I shouldn’t have encouraged him, to be frank. He always knew what it was. He always knew, and I… did too. Just took a while for it to sink in. And… I was slightly foolish in hoping that he’d be just for me… for a while there it felt like… the last few months, it was all building up to it.”

“And you’re sure a fling is what he wants?”

“He went out for dinner with this other girl yesterday. Safe to assume.”

“I guess the question is…” He sighs. “Having as little of him as he can give you… is that something you’re willing to have? Because if not, you’ll have to push him away entirely. Protect yourself.”

She closes her eyes and brings a hand up to her mouth in resignation. “I feel so stupid.”

Daeron places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it takes two to make something work. Don’t beat yourself up if he isn’t.”

When she walks back to her flat that night, Daeron’s words echo through her mind like a fast growing wildfire.

Is he worth it? 

She knows the answer long before she even ponders on the question. It is simply a question of whether or not she can handle it.

There’s more cheesecake in the fridge.

She avoids Aemond and his texts for the next few days, her thoughts spiraling as she wonders what he really wants from her if he’s seeing someone else. Every time her phone buzzes, she tenses, half-hoping, half-dreading it’s him. 

Of course he won’t say he misses her. He won’t say he wants to see her. That’s just not his style.

She stares at the screen for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the keyboard before she decides to leave him on read. Her heart pounds, but she doesn't know how to respond. It’s easier to focus on Daeron, easier to avoid the growing confusion that Aemond has brought into her life.

They lie on the blanket, the sound of waves crashing below the cliffs filling the comfortable silence between them. The sky above them shifts in shades of pink and orange as the sun inches closer to the horizon. It’s a scene that could easily be romantic if things had turned out differently between them.

“You know,” Daeron starts, his voice light but thoughtful, “we’re pretty compatible.”

She turns her head to look at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, we are. It’s kind of a shame things didn’t… I don’t know, grow between us the way they could’ve.”

“Yeah,” he echoes, his tone carrying a hint of wistfulness. “It just never… happened.”

With you, she wants to add. I loved you for so long, you just didn’t love me back.

They both know there’s no regret in those words, just a shared acknowledgment of something that could have been but never was.

“I remember the first time I realized I had feelings for you,” she says, her voice softer now as she gazes out at the sea. “I was probably eight years old. That day on the school grounds, when you and Luke fought because he was bothering me. In my defense, I was eight years old and that was the most romantic thing ever.”

Daeron laughs, a genuine sound that makes her smile. “Eight years old, huh? Wow, I didn’t know I was such a charmer back then.”

“You weren’t. I was just an idiot.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, well, you had your moments,” she teases, nudging him with her shoulder. “But really, it was just a silly crush. I got over it eventually. Wasn’t great, but I managed it somehow.” The gravity of underselling her feelings hits her, but she’s not quite upset about it anymore. Daeron is a thing of her past - how much power can feelings from the past hold anyway?

“It all seems silly to me now.”

Daeron nods, understanding. “I get that. I always thought you’d make an awesome girlfriend, though.”

She raises an eyebrow, amused. “Yeah?”

“You’re cool and smart, and we always have a good time together. But I just… never felt much more than that. I do love you, just…”

“You’re not in love with me. I don’t blame you.” She sighs. “At least, not anymore.”

“You know what I mean,” Daeron says, chuckling. “We were close, and it always felt like we could’ve been something more, but it never felt… right. I think I just always saw you as my best friend.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it? We’re practically perfect for each other in so many ways, but the spark was never really there. No matter how much I used to want it.”

“Practically perfect,” Daeron agrees, smiling as he echoes her words. “Maybe we’re too practical.”

“Or maybe too perfect.” She grins, looking at him through her sunglasses.

“On paper, definitely.” They both laugh, the sound mingling with the crashing waves. They’re not sad about what could have been; they’re content with what they have.

She realizes she quite likes it this way.

“Hey, you know what?” Daeron says, his tone suddenly playful. “If we’re both still single at forty, we should just get married.”

She snorts, covering her mouth as she laughs. “Seriously?”

“Why not?” he says, grinning. “We’d make a pretty awesome couple, don’t you think?”

She looks at him, pretending to consider it. “Yeah, perfect on paper.”

“Come on, indulge me.”

“Fuck no. What if I’m actually single at forty and have to follow through?”

“It won’t be so bad, I promise.”

“If I’m still single by forty, I’d rather throw myself off this cliff.”

“Be a little brave for once. It’s just a far off possibility.”

“Ugh, fine. You have a deal.” Just as she says it, she extends her hand to him.

“Deal.” He laughs, and the realization is devoid of any pesky feelings as she thinks this is the best laugh she knows.

Hearty, boyish and pure.

Came by the flat, it’s locked. Tell me you’re okay. It’s been more than a week.

I’m fine.

She doesn’t want to see him till she knows exactly what she wants to say. He’s made his stance very clear - that this is very casual to him, and that he doesn’t take what they have as seriously as she thought. She envies him, in all honesty. Why can’t her heart be as straightforward as his?

Daeron had met Aemond and their uncle Gwayne for a game of tennis at the Hightower Townhouse and invited her - but she refused politely and chose to not dwell. A few days later, he takes the private jet to Essos to visit Helaena during her exchange year and she clings to him in a tight hug before letting him go.

Like Daeron, who has chosen to relax this summer, she knows that first-year internships aren't mandatory. If she wanted one, she could easily get it - her name carries significant weight in the world of art and history. Her great-great-great-great-grandmother, Coryanne Wylde, left an indelible mark on the Westerosi art scene with her scandalous and groundbreaking series of erotic paintings titled A Caution for Young Girls. The collection - now cared for at the Citadel in Oldtown - is notorious for its bold sexual depictions, and is considered a turning point in the history of Westerosi art. That, coupled with her family’s considerable wealth - she has the luxury to forgo work during the first year holidays and focus solely on herself.

This summer, she’s embracing that privilege fully. Her days are spent immersed in books, wandering through museums, and exploring the city. She takes day trips to quaint coastal towns, armed with her sketchbook and ready to draw.

Summer will come to a close in less than a fortnight, and she’s grateful for the rest. As much as she loves studying art history, it does take a lot of energy out of her to channel that interest into wading through a structured syllabus that doesn’t run on her own time or pace.

Mornings begin with walks through the city, sketchbook always in hand, capturing the delicate lines of the older architecture or the vibrant chaos of modern installations. She takes her camera too, and each photograph she takes feels like a small rebellion against the uncertainty that has plagued her thoughts.

Afternoons are reserved for exploring the smaller towns along the coastline. She finds solace in the simplicity of these places—the way the sea breeze carries the scent of salt and wildflowers, the way cobblestone streets wind past charming cafes and artisan shops. She sits by the harbor, sketching boats bobbing gently on the waves, or wanders through quaint markets, photographing the scenes. She lets the local old women near the port weave flowers and shells into her hair, and wears loose fitting bright gowns that she finds in smaller stalls.

As the weeks pass, Aemond’s messages become sparse. When the texts stop altogether, she feels a pang of guilt she can’t quite shake. She knows it’s probably for the best, that she needs the space to sort out what she wants from him, but the silence echoes in her mind, leaving her to wonder what she might have done differently.

In every possibility, she realizes she wants him. But she never dwells in her thoughts long enough to understand what that means for them.

One evening, a few days before the next semester is set to begin, she finds herself at the Quill and Tankard, a charming little pub nestled in a cozy corner of the city. The warm, dimly lit space is filled with the hum of conversation and the clink of glasses. She orders a drink, the amber liquid swirling in her glass, and settles into a secluded booth. The conversations around her blur into a comforting background noise as she sips her drink, the alcohol loosening the tight knot of anxiety in her chest.

As the night wears on, her thoughts drift back to Aemond. She has tried so hard to avoid him, to drown out the questions and doubts he has stirred within her. But here in the pub, the memories feel sharper, more insistent. She glances around the room, watching other couples laugh and share stories, and wonders why her own connections feel so fraught with uncertainty.

Her phone buzzes on the table, a reminder of the texts that have long ceased. She glances at it, feeling a pang of longing and frustration. The lack of communication from Aemond leaves her with unanswered questions and unresolved feelings. She takes another sip of her drink, the warmth spreading through her, and feels a surge of impulse.

With a deep breath, she reaches for her phone. Her fingers hover over the screen for a moment, trembling slightly. She knows she shouldn’t be doing this, that reaching out might only reopen wounds she isn’t ready to face. But the need for some semblance of understanding is too strong to ignore.

Finally, she presses the call button and holds the phone to her ear. The familiar ringtone feels both comforting and jarring in the quiet of the pub. She takes another sip, steeling herself for whatever comes next.

"Hey, can I come over?”

Despite living a stone’s throw away from each other, she hasn’t seen him in a month - and the moment she lays eyes on him again, she’s struck by how effortlessly captivating he is. Aemond sits at his desk, a stack of papers spread out before him, his focus completely absorbed by whatever it is he’s reading. The dim white light from his half-open laptop casts a soft glow on his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the intensity in his expression. He’s in his element, completely at ease in the quiet of his own space.

She realizes, not for the first time, that it’s easy to stare at Aemond. Easy, because he’s always so absorbed in whatever task demands his attention. His head is often down, his gaze fixed on the papers, books, or screens in front of him, making it simple for her to observe him without the risk of getting caught. But more than that, it’s easy to stare at Aemond because there’s something about him that draws her in. He doesn’t have the easy, effortless charm of Daeron or the overwhelming presence of Aegon, but his appeal lies in the subtleties.

There’s a sharper, quieter beauty in Aemond that reveals itself in the smallest of ways. The way his brow furrows slightly when he’s deep in thought, the almost imperceptible lift of his lips when something amuses him. His beauty isn’t meant to be obvious or attention grabbing; it’s there for those who take the time to notice, for those who can appreciate the details that make him who he is. It’s the kind of beauty that makes her wonder about the thoughts that flicker behind his stormy eye, those that he keeps so carefully guarded.

In many ways, Helaena is much the same. There’s a quiet elegance to her, a softness that’s easy to overlook but impossible to forget once you’ve seen it. The two of them, siblings with such contrasting temperaments, share this unspoken, understated allure. They leave a lasting impression, like a delicate piece of art that grows more intricate the longer you look at it.

She stands there for a moment longer, taking him in - the way his long fingers trace the edge of the paper, the way a few stray strands of hair fall across his forehead. The familiarity of this scene almost comforts her as she leans into the doorway, unsure if she’s ready for this confrontation, but knowing it’s inevitable.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come,” she murmurs, the words slipping out like a secret, barely more than a breath. They drift into the space between them, fragile and hesitant.

“I told you to,” he replies, his voice steady, almost indifferent. His eyes remain fixed on the papers before him, the rustling of the sheets filling the silence between them.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “What are you working on?”

“Going through some numbers, drafting reports for Otto,” he answers, still without looking up.

“Did you work with your grandfather? For the summer?” she asks, grasping at the small talk like a lifeline.

“Yes, father wanted me to train with him.”

“Hm.”

The conversation stalls, and she moves away from the doorway, retreating to the kitchen as if the physical distance might help her regain her composure. She rifles through his fridge, finding a slice of cheesecake and brewing a pot of coffee. The mundane actions feel almost grounding, but the tension remains, coiled tight in her chest.

As she watches the coffee drip, her mind races. She’s tense at his curtness, but a part of her knows she deserves it after avoiding him for so long. Still, she can’t help the anger simmering beneath the surface. She left to protect herself, but he’s acting as if her absence was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

She walks back into the room, determined now. She nudges herself between him and his work desk, leaning back with her palms pressing against the surface. He finally looks up, his gaze sweeping over her from top to bottom, assessing. His hand rests over his lips, elbows braced on the armrests of his chair. The quiet intensity of his stare sends a shiver down her spine, but she doesn’t back down.

“What are we doing?” she asks, her voice low but firm.

“You disappeared for weeks on end, and now you’re back,” he responds, his tone maddeningly calm, as if nothing has happened.

Her nostrils flare in irritation. “What were we doing before I left?” She’s not letting him off that easily.

“Hm.” He takes a deep, audible breath, the kind that makes her want to scream. “We slept together, and you walked away to sort yourself out.”

“Are you serious right now?” she scoffs, her voice rising in disbelief. “I left because we slept together, and then you told me you were still seeing someone else! Something I asked you about, and you never bothered addressing!”

The frustration bubbling inside her threatens to spill over. She feels like a petulant child, but she knows she’s not entirely in the wrong. Yet his infuriatingly level-headed tone only makes her feel more on edge.

Without warning, he stands up, looming over her like a dark shadow. His presence is overwhelming, and when he steps closer, she can feel the heat radiating from him. His hands slam down on the table on either side of her, caging her in. Their breaths mingle in the small space between them, and she refuses to break eye contact, challenging him with every ounce of defiance she has left.

“Did you, for once, consider that I may not have wanted to wreck whatever it is you have with this other girl you’ve been seeing? For more than a year too, if I might add?” Her voice is laced with bitterness, but there’s an edge of vulnerability there too, one she can’t quite hide.

“Hm.”

His nonchalant response is the final straw. “Do you have nothing to say to me?” she nearly pleads, her tone wavering. It’s borderline pathetic, and the entire situation feels far messier than she can handle. “You blindsided me.”

He watches her for a moment, his gaze unreadable, before he finally speaks. “Do you regret it?”

Despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her, that answer is easy. “I probably should, but no.”

Her words hang between them, and for a moment, neither of them moves. Then, almost imperceptibly, his hand brushes against hers where it rests on the table. It’s a tentative touch, the barest graze of his fingers, but it’s enough to send a jolt of electricity through her. She inhales sharply, her breath catching in her throat.

He leans in closer, the distance between them shrinking to nothing. She can feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the tension thickens, wrapping around them like a vise. His gaze drops to her lips, and she feels her resolve weakening, her anger melting away into something far more dangerous.

“Aemond…” she whispers, her voice trembling.

He tilts his head slightly, his lips almost brushing against hers. “Wylde,” he murmurs, the sound of her name on his lips making her heart stutter. His eyes darken, and she knows there’s no going back now.

She can feel the tension, heavy and palpable. And then, without another word, he closes the final gap between them, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. 

It’s messy, complicated, and far from perfect, but at this moment, he is all that matters.

His lips find the tender skin of her neck, trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses down to her collarbone. The wet warmth of his mouth sends shivers down her spine, his breath hot against her skin. His hands are everywhere - exploring, claiming, running up and down her sides under her shirt, fingers pressing into her flesh as if trying to memorize the feel of her.

“Been too fucking long,” he murmurs, the words flowing like water.

She pulls his head up, capturing his lips with hers in a fierce kiss, a desperate melding of mouths that leaves them both breathless. They move together with a practiced urgency, her shirt sliding over her head, his following a second later. Her bra is discarded just as quickly, tossed aside without a second thought, as their bodies come together, skin to skin, the heat between them searing.

But when she reaches out, shifting his papers aside to sit on the edge of the desk, he laughs quietly, a low rumble that sends a thrill through her. He shakes his head, amusement flickering in his eyes, and lifts her effortlessly, his hands strong and steady beneath her. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, holding on tight as he carries her toward the bed.

“Those papers took me a while to organize,” he murmurs sharply, his tone laced with mock seriousness. If she didn’t know him better, she might think he was truly annoyed.

But she does know him, knows the way his eyes glint with barely concealed mirth as he lowers her onto the bed. The cool sheets contrast with the heat of their bodies, and she arches up into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him down for another kiss. 

Aemond’s hands trail down her body, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her pants as he pulls away slightly, eyes dark and intent. She watches him, breathless, as he slides her pants and underwear down in one smooth motion, the cool air hitting her skin making her shiver.

He kisses his way down her body, lingering at her hips before settling between her thighs. The anticipation coils tight in her belly, her breath hitching as he looks up at her, his expression unreadable but undeniably hungry. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, and she feels the tension in her body build with each brush of his lips against her skin.

When he finally touches her where she needs him most, she gasps, her hips arching off the bed in response. He holds her down gently, his strong hands firm on her thighs as his mouth moves with skillful precision. The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending alive and thrumming with pleasure as he takes his time, drawing out every gasp and moan that slips from her lips.

She threads her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly as she loses herself in the feeling, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His name slips past her lips, a breathless plea that only seems to spur him on, his tongue and lips working in tandem to push her closer and closer to the edge.

It’s a slow build, a steady climb toward something that feels almost too intense to bear. 

When she finally falls over the edge, it’s like the world shatters around her, a white-hot burst of pleasure that leaves her breathless and shaking, her hands gripping his hair tightly as she rides out the waves of her release. He stays with her through it all, his mouth still moving against her until the sensation becomes too much and she gently pulls him up to her, needing to feel his lips on hers, to ground herself in the warmth of his kiss.

Her breath is still uneven as she pulls him closer, her hand sliding down his chest, tracing the hard lines of his torso. She meets his gaze, eyes dark with desire, and murmurs, “I need you.”

Without breaking eye contact, her hand slips into his slacks, finding him already hard and straining against the fabric. He hisses at the contact, his jaw tightening as she wraps her fingers around him, stroking slowly, deliberately.

But it doesn’t last long. With a low growl, he pulls her hand away and stands up, quickly shedding his slacks and boxers, the clothing falling to the floor in a heap. The sight of him, fully bared to her, sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through her.

He’s back on her in an instant, his mouth on hers, urgent and demanding, as he positions himself between her legs. She wraps her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, and when he enters her in one smooth thrust, eliciting a gasp from them both.

He stills for a moment, buried deep inside her, his breath hot against her neck. Then, with a groan, he starts to move, slow at first, each thrust measured and deliberate, as if he’s savoring the way her body reacts to him. It doesn’t take long for the pace to quicken, the room filling with the sounds of their bodies moving together, the bed creaking beneath them.

She clings to him, her nails digging into his back as he drives into her, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. His grip on her hips is firm, his movements powerful and unrelenting, as if he’s intent on losing himself in her.

“Ae-mond…”

Their breaths mingle, their bodies slick with sweat as they move together, the world outside fading away until all that exists is this. A conversation is due and far from over, but her mind is clouded by thoughts of him, him, him-

She breaks the kiss, her head falling back as her body tightens around him, pulling him deeper as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. He buries his face in her neck, his breath ragged against her skin, and with one final, languid thrust, he comes in pleasure as he moans into her skin.

For a moment, they remain tangled together, their breaths harsh and uneven, the aftermath of their release leaving them both dazed and spent. He stays inside her as long as he can, as if reluctant to break the connection, before finally pulling away and collapsing beside her, pulling her into his arms.

Her head rests on his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm beneath her ear. His arm is draped over her back, holding her close as if to keep the world at bay for just a little longer.

But as the silence stretches on, the reality of their situation begins to creep back in, and she feels the familiar weight of her thoughts clouding her mind. What are they really doing here? What does any of this mean? The questions swirl in her head, tugging her back to the uncertainty she’s been trying to avoid.

He notices the change in her immediately. The way her body tenses slightly, the furrow that forms between her brows. He’s seen this look before - when she’s lost in thought, when something’s weighing heavily on her. His grip tightens around her, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, trying to anchor her in the present.

She tilts her head up, meeting his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes, a tenderness that makes her chest tighten. For a moment, neither of them speaks, the air thick. His hand comes up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch lingering on her cheek.

Her heart skips a beat as she tries to find the words to express the tangle of emotions inside her. But before she can speak, he abruptly breaks the silence.

“It’s never going to be exclusive or long-term with her. That’s not what we have.” he says, his voice steady but laced with something she can’t quite place. “You’re not destroying anything.”

The words hang in the air between them, heavy and final. He’s said them almost as if to preempt whatever she was going to say, as if to take away the guilt and confusion that’s been gnawing at her since this all began. His eyes search hers, gauging her reaction.

She blinks, trying to process what he’s just said. The admission should bring some relief, should ease the turmoil inside her, but instead, it leaves her feeling more conflicted. The clarity she sought doesn’t come; instead, she’s left with a hollowness that only deepens the questions she’s been grappling with.

“You think saying that makes this easier?” she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m saying it because I don’t want you to feel guilty,” he replies, his tone firm but not unkind. “This—whatever this is—doesn’t have to be complicated. It can be just us, without any strings attached.”

She bites her lip, the words sinking in. He’s offering her an out, a way to keep whatever they have without the burden of labels or expectations. But is that really what she wants?

Especially now that her heart skips a beat whenever he comes around? 

“You were in love with him for a long time. This is what you need. Something that won’t trouble you.” His hand trails down her arm, grounding her in the moment. “You don’t have to overthink it,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “We want each other.”

She likes him. More than she should, if a fling with her is all he wants. But she can't bring herself to push him away.

“We can just be.”

She looks up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but there’s none. He’s being honest with her, laying it all out so she can make her own choice.

“You're saying you've been seeing a girl for more than a year, but she's alright with you sleeping with me?”

“Think that's how an open relationship works. Don't you?”

She wants to ask who it is, but she has a feeling that's more trouble than it's worth.

“And what if I don't want this?”

“You can stop anytime. But you won't.”

His functional eye narrows and there's knots of muscle in both corners of his jaw, a slight twitch of the eyebrow. She likes him when he's like this.

She likes when he knows her. She likes that he's indispensable to her. She likes that he knows that too.

She kisses him and goes to sleep in his arms.

Does any of it matter if she gets to have him like this?

The room is quiet except for the faint rustle of pages as Aemond flips through her sketchbook, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders. She traces absent-minded patterns on his chest, the tip of her finger skimming over the faint lines of his muscles, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

The dim light filters in through the curtains, casting a soft glow over them, highlighting the contentment on her face. Her head rests against him, hair fanned out over the pillow as she relaxes into the moment, her mind drifting aimlessly. 

Aemond’s fingers lazily flip through the pages filled with rough pencil strokes, some finished, others abandoned halfway. His gaze pauses on one drawing in particular - a silhouette of a woman standing at the edge of the sea, her figure gazing out toward the endless horizon.

He runs his thumb over the page, his voice low. “What’s this one?”

She turns her head, glancing at the sketch. Her lips curve into a small smile, though her mind drifts back to the scene that had inspired it. “I was hanging out at the Sunset Sea for a few days. I’d been studying Jaeron of Lys in my class with Professor Rivers, you know, the old painter?” He shifts slightly, and she shifts along with him. “His work was all about those distant, far-off humans in his portraits, always framed by these huge, sweeping landscapes.” 

Aemond listens intently, his fingers still resting on the paper as she speaks. He turns his head slightly toward her, encouraging her to continue.

“It’s why his work is so widely discussed. The people in his paintings are always so still. Silent. You barely notice them at first, almost like they’re not even the focus. But the longer you look, the more you wonder what they’re thinking, what they’re feeling. He made the audience do the work to comprehend them.”

Aemond’s brow furrows slightly, intrigued by the thought. “I’ve seen some of his work in the books. There’s this tension in it, like the figures are waiting for something, even though the rest of the world moves on around them.”

She nods. “Exactly. That tension is what makes it brilliant. What’s even more tragic, though, is what happened to him.” Her voice softens, the weight of the story pulling her deeper into it.

“Jaeron went blind in his later years. He couldn’t paint, couldn’t create for years. The grief of not being able to see art, beauty… it destroyed him. He never touched a brush again, not until he was on his deathbed. And even then, he wished for one last chance to paint.”

Aemond turns fully to face her now, propping his head on his hand, captivated by the story. “And did he?”

She nods, her gaze distant as she recalls the details from her class. “He did. Blind and frail, he recreated his first-ever painting—a woman looking into the sea. It was perfect, down to the smallest detail. His final masterpiece.”

“The class was about muscle memory in art,” she continues softly. “How creativity, no matter how burnt out you feel, is what makes you… you. Even after all that time, even when he couldn’t see, his body remembered. His hands knew the strokes, the curves, like he’d never left it.”

“Hm.” Aemond’s noncommittal sound hums through the air as she turns her head, her eyes searching his face. “It is,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “I think about that sometimes - how you can leave something behind, but when you pick it back up… it’s like it never left you either. You just know.”

His thumb traces slow, soothing circles over her hand, his attention fully on her as she sighs, lost in thought.

“A lot of it translates into real life,” she continues, her voice softer now. “Like cycling, or swimming… even driving. Things that require focus and rhythm.”

She pauses, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s like learning to be in sync with something, or someone.”

Aemond’s eyebrow quirks up slightly at her words, a hint of curiosity flickering in his gaze as she drops her eyes, feeling the warmth of his chest beneath her cheek. She presses on, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Like how we didn’t see each other for the entire summer,” she says, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his skin, “but when we came back together… the chemistry, whatever it is. It was there. You didn’t forget what I liked, and I didn’t forget either.”

Her words hang in the air, the silence stretching. She feels a pang of doubt, wondering if her attempt at lightness had been too blunt, too revealing, too… stupid. She glances up at him, ready to brush it off, but Aemond is staring straight ahead, his fingers threading gently through her hair, the weight of his thoughts visible. She can see the wheels turn in his head.

“I wouldn’t want to forget anything about you,” he says. His voice settles deep within her chest.

Her breath catches, and for a moment, she’s at a loss for words, the intensity of his statement catching her off guard. A flush creeps up her neck, coloring her cheeks, and she feels the fluttering in her chest threaten to overwhelm her.

Desperate to lighten the mood, to distract herself from the way his words made her feel, she lets out a shaky laugh, trying to mask her flustered mind. “You’re being fucking pretentious now,” she jokes, but her voice betrays her, a bit too breathless, a bit too forced.

Why say things like that if you don't mean them?

Aemond doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze steady on hers. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, just keeps looking at her with a quiet intensity that makes her heart race. The flutter in her chest doesn’t fade, and the realization hits her, taking her down with the force of a well-aimed punch to the gut.

He’s seen right through her.

When she wakes, she glances at the clock—her classes start in an hour or so, but Aemond's are earlier, and he’s already gone. The quiet of the apartment feels warm, almost comforting.

She heads to the bathroom and steps into the shower. As the steam fogs up the glass, she notices faint traces of where his fingers must have absently brushed across the condensation, drawing random patterns. 

Proof that this isn’t a dream, he was hers last night.

After her shower, she rummages through his cupboard to find something to wear, but instead finds a shirt she left behind long ago, forgotten until now. She pulls it on, feeling the fabric cling to her still-damp skin, and shimmies into the same pants from yesterday. The hunger hits her suddenly, and she practically inhales the toast, eggs and coffee, savoring every bite.

As she prepares to leave, she looks for the keys to lock the apartment. By the keystand, a small note catches her eye. She picks it up, her heart giving a small flutter as she reads the familiar handwriting.

Remember your postcards.

She finds the small stack right next to the note and smiles. She picks it up and almost walks out, before she walks back in and takes the note along with her too.

They sit across from each other at one of the long, narrow tables, the polished wood catching the golden hour light filtering through the tall windows.

Months have passed, and classes have begun again. Their time together has been good, even great, filled with moments that make her heart flutter more often than she’d care to admit. But with each passing day, a nagging feeling settles deeper in her chest - a constant reminder that they’re not dating, that her feelings for him shouldn’t matter. It’s something she has to tell herself over and over, especially when he does something that makes her smile in his own subtle way.

She’s focused on her laptop, typing away at her latest assignment, but her concentration wavers every now and then. She can’t help but sneak glances at Aemond, who’s engrossed in one of his textbooks, his brow furrowed in that familiar way that tugs at something deep within her.

Every so often, his foot nudges hers lightly under the table, a small gesture that sends a tingling sensation up her spine. It’s almost as if he does it without thinking, but the effect on her is anything but casual. She tries to keep her mind on her work, but the reminders keep coming - small touches that feel too intimate, like the brush of his hand against hers when they both reach for their coffee, or the way he sometimes squeezes her knee under the table, just for a moment, before going back to his reading as if nothing happened.

The thoughts swirl in her mind, making it harder and harder to focus. She needs a break, something to pull her away from these confusing feelings. So, she stands up, mumbling about needing a book for her research. Aemond doesn’t look up, but she can feel his presence, his quiet attention, as she walks away from the table.

She wanders through the rows of books, her fingers brushing along the spines as she tries to steady her thoughts. The library’s quiet, the only sounds the soft rustle of pages and the distant hum of conversation. She’s been walking for a few minutes when she suddenly stops, feeling a familiar presence behind her.

His shadow falls over her, unmistakable in its solidity, in the way it looms, tall and certain. Even without turning, she knows it’s Aemond. There’s something about the way he stands, the way his silhouette feels different from anyone else’s—broader, more composed, with an intensity that seems to fill the space around him.

She senses him draw closer, the warmth of his body pressing gently against her back. Her breath catches in her throat when she feels his hand brush her hair aside, the strands falling softly over her shoulder. Aemond’s fingers graze the nape of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. He leans in, his lips just barely touching her skin, teasing her with featherlight kisses that make her knees go weak.

“Hi,” she faintly murmurs. He grumbles just slightly, his voice low and rough in her ear, laced with a quiet amusement that makes her heart skip a beat. His breath is hot against her skin, and she can feel the faint rumble of his laugh as his lips travel along the curve of her neck.

Her breath catches as one of his hands slides under her skirt, fingers brushing over the curve of her ass, squeezing lightly before venturing lower, teasing the sensitive skin at the top of her thigh. The other hand moves up, slipping beneath her shirt. His touch is firm, confident, as his fingers trace over the fabric of her bra, finding the sensitive peaks of her nipples. He brushes over them, his touch sending a shudder through her that she can’t hide.

“Aemond…” she whispers, her voice a mix of plea and warning, but it only makes him smile against her skin.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he says softly, his voice full of a challenge she’s not sure she can meet. His fingers pinch lightly, just enough to make her gasp, the sound swallowed by his quiet groan of approval.

But she doesn’t tell him to stop. Instead, she leans back into him, her body betraying her mind as it seeks more of his touch. His hand on her ass tightens, pulling her against him, and she feels the heat of him, the way he presses against her as if he can’t get close enough.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs, his lips trailing back up to her ear, nipping lightly at the lobe. “You know that, right?”

She nods, her breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts as his hand beneath her shirt continues its slow, deliberate torment.

“Say the word,” he whispers, his voice a low rumble that makes her insides twist with want. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

But the words won’t come. Instead, she turns her head slightly, catching his gaze out of the corner of her eye, the intensity there stealing whatever resolve she thought she had. His eyes are dark, filled with something deep and consuming, and it’s in that moment she knows she’s lost.

“Aemond…” she breathes again, but this time, it’s not a warning. It’s an invitation, and he knows it. His hand leaves her ass, sliding around to her front, pulling her even closer, and she feels the low, satisfied hum in his chest as he kisses the side of her neck, harder this time, more insistent.

The hand slides further down, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties. His fingers move with agonizing slowness, tracing the curve of her before dipping into the heat between her thighs. She bites down on her lip, trying to stifle the gasp that escapes her as his fingers brush over her entrance.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs against her ear, his voice thick with desire. His fingers start to move in slow, deliberate circles, teasing and tormenting her with a touch that’s just enough to make her want more but not enough to satisfy the growing ache inside her.

She grips the edge of the bookshelf in front of her, knuckles turning white as she tries to stay quiet, but every slow, precise movement of his fingers makes it harder. Her breath hitches in her throat as he presses harder, moving against her in a way that makes her whole body tense with need.

“Please, Aemond,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of everything she’s feeling. She wants more, needs more, and she knows he can give it to her.

A low, dark chuckle rumbles in his chest as he withdraws his hand, making her whimper at the loss. But before she can protest, he’s turning her around, his movements quick and deliberate, as if he’s been waiting for this just as much as she has.

He pushes her back against the shelves, his body pressing into hers, trapping her between the cool wood and his heat. His mouth is on hers before she can say anything else, kissing her hard and deep, swallowing the moan that escapes her as he reaches between them to tug her panties down. His fingers work deftly, the fabric falling to the floor around her ankles as he frees himself from his pants.

He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, his gaze dark and filled with something primal. “It’s a shame,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I quite like it when you scream.”

Her breath catches at his words, the anticipation tightening in her stomach as he leans in, his lips brushing against her ear. “But you’re going to have to be quiet, or they’ll hear you.”

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he’s lifting her leg, wrapping it around his waist as he guides himself to her entrance. She gasps as he pushes into her slowly, stretching her inch by inch in a way that feels both torturous and utterly perfect.

She bites down on her lip to keep from crying out, the intensity of the sensation almost too much to bear as he fills her completely. His hand slides under her shirt again, pushing the fabric up and palming her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a way that makes her arch against him, her body desperate for more of his touch.

He begins to move, thrusting into her with a slow, steady rhythm that has her head spinning. Each movement is deliberate, controlled, as if he’s savoring every moment, every sound she makes. She can’t help the small moans that escape her, each one muffled against his shoulder as she clings to him, her body trembling with the force of her need.

But even her attempts to stay quiet aren’t enough to satisfy him. He kisses her again, harder this time, swallowing her cries as he picks up the pace, his hips snapping against hers with a force that makes the bookshelf behind her rattle. The sounds of the library fade away, leaving only the echo of their ragged breaths and the wet, slick sounds of their bodies moving together.

“So fucking perfect,” he groans, his lips brushing against her ear as he pounds into her, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.

She can feel the tension building inside her, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust. Her fingers dig into his back, holding on to him like he’s the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.

“I need you,” she gasps, her voice a desperate whisper against his neck. “Please, Aemond… don’t stop.” The thrill of being caught only seems to make her want more.

His response is a low, guttural sound that sends shivers down her spine. He shifts slightly, changing the angle just enough to hit that perfect spot inside her, and suddenly she’s teetering on the edge, every nerve in her body alight with sensation.

“Come for me,” he whispers, his voice a dark command that she can’t resist.

And she does. Her body shatters around him, her release crashing over her in waves that leave her trembling and breathless. He kisses her again, swallowing her cries as he thrusts into her harder, faster, riding out her orgasm until she’s nothing but a quivering mess in his arms.

Aemond isn’t far behind. With a few more powerful thrusts, he buries himself deep inside her, his body going rigid as he finds his own release, groaning her name against her lips as he spills into her.

They stay like that for a moment, both of them breathing heavily, their bodies pressed together as they come down from the high. He kisses her softly, his lips lingering on hers as if he’s reluctant to pull away, and for a moment, it’s just the two of them, lost in the aftermath of what they’ve just shared.

When he finally pulls back, there’s a look in his eyes that she can’t quite place, something intense and raw that makes her heart skip a beat. He smooths her hair back, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before helping her adjust her clothes, his touch now tender, almost reverent.

When she’s done with adjusting herself, she brings her hands over her mouth and lets out a long, shuddering breath - disbelief, over what they’d just done. He seems quite unfazed, almost as if he constantly engages in semi-public sex and she can’t help but wonder.

Has he done this with her too?

When he pulls her into his chest with an arm over her shoulder, she smiles. She smiles and smiles and smiles until her lips go taut and her dimples are seemingly permanent.

Aemond pushes open the door to her room, stepping inside with a quiet creak of the hinges. He pauses, his gaze taking in the chaos that greets him: clothes scattered across the floor, stacks of books and sketch pads teetering on the edge of her desk, and an assortment of half-packed bags and boxes cluttering every available surface. 

Raising an eyebrow, he surveys the scene with amusement. “You’ve been busy,” he says, his tone both teasing and intrigued.

She glances up from where she is hunched over a suitcase, her hands busy stuffing garments into it with an absentminded efficiency. “I am,” she says with a sigh, straightening up and brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I’m packing to go back home next week. One of my older half-brothers is launching his business, and my dad called me today. He’s got plane tickets for me, so I thought I’d just stay at King’s Landing until the Targaryen Charity Benefit.”

Her eyes flicker over to him, a hint of apology in them as if she were embarrassed by the state of her room. “I’m taking my classes online while I’m there.”

Aemond hums, his gaze drifting to the cluttered bed as he sits at the edge. He runs a hand through his hair, still processing her news. “You’ll be gone for three weeks.”

She leaves the mess behind and stands in front of him, between his legs. Almost as though it’s second nature, she straddles him, her legs wrapping around his waist. His hands settle on her hips, holding her in place, and she smiles. “Yes, whatever will you do without me?”

Aemond’s grip tightens around her hips as she straddles him. He lifts a hand to brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender. Without a word, she leans down, capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

It’s gentle at first. His hands roam up her back, steadying her against him, while her fingers trace the line of his jaw, feeling the sharp angles beneath her touch. She melts into him, savoring the warmth of his chest and the familiar feel of his arms around her.

Her mind betrays her, hitting her with the sudden realization of how much she cares for him - how her feelings have resurfaced in full force despite everything. She told herself before that this was casual, but now, pressed against him, it's impossible to ignore the tenderness of the moment, how much it means to her.

Just as she's about to lose herself entirely, Aemond pulls back slightly, his lips brushing against hers as he speaks softly. “Come with me… to the Targaryen Charity Benefit.”

She blinks, his words cutting through the haze of her thoughts. “What?”

He meets her eyes, his thumb stroking her side. “Come with me.”

“As your date?” She raises her eyebrows, knowing very well that going with him to public events is probably not a safe bet to make.

“As whatever you’d like.”

Her heart skips a beat, the invitation sending a flutter through her chest. For a moment, she hesitates, her mind whirling. She can see herself there, on his arm, but doubt quickly gnaws at her. What about the other woman? The one she knows he’s seeing? Wouldn't that complicate things further?

But she pushes the thoughts aside, smiling softly at him as she whispers, “Okay.”

Before she can overthink it, she leans down and kisses him again, her lips urgent against his, as though trying to drown out the uncertainty lingering in her mind. But as the kiss deepens, the doubt creeps back in. Can she really be the girl on his arm without stirring up more trouble? Will his other entanglements only complicate things further? What are they even doing?

She can’t shake the feeling that it’s not as simple as he makes it sound.

Pulling back from the kiss, her breath still mingling with his, her fingers still on his chest. The question that’s been nagging at the back of her mind breaks through, and she can’t keep it at bay any longer. “What about her?” she asks, her voice quieter now. “The girl you’re seeing… is that not going to be a problem?”

Aemond’s expression shifts ever so slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze. He sighs, his hands resting lightly on her hips as he looks down, avoiding her eyes for a moment. “It’s not what we do,” he says, his voice soft but edged with a weight that makes her heart sink. “We don’t… go out.”

There’s a heaviness to his words, something almost resigned in the way he says them. It breaks her heart just slightly, the realization that this other girl—whoever she is— isn’t someone he even takes out in public. But why? Why would he hide someone if she wasn’t important to him in some way? Why come to her if she was important?

Her brows knitted together as she looked at him, searching his face for answers. “Why?” she asked softly, the question slipping out before she could stop herself. “Why hide her if she’s not…?”

He met her gaze then, his expression hard to read. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, as if weighing his response. “It’s complicated,” he finally said, his voice low, almost distant. “It’s not what we do. We can’t… it’s not what we do.”

The way he said it, the way the words hung between them, sent a pang through her chest. She had no idea what he was dealing with, but it was clear that whatever this was with the other woman wasn’t as simple as she’d imagined. Still, it left her wondering if she’d ever really have him, all of him, or if he was always going to be torn between worlds she couldn’t fully understand.

She looked away, trying to process it all. The warmth of his body against hers, the comfort of his arms around her—none of it could quiet the confusion that swirled in her mind. Aemond’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on her hips as he noticed the way her expression shifted, the light in her eyes dimming.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost pleading. He lifted a hand to cup her face, gently turning her head so she’d look at him. His thumb brushed lightly over her cheek. “It’s not what you think.”

She held his gaze for a moment, her expression guarded, but the doubt lingered in her eyes. “Isn’t it?”

Aemond exhaled, feeling the weight of the moment press down on him. “It’s not like that with her,” he said, his voice low, steady. “She won’t mind.”

She won’t mind. She won’t mind. She won’t mind. She won’t-

Her time with him was all because this other girl did not mind. And if she did? What then?

The words echoed in her mind, reverberating off every wall of her thoughts until they drowned out the sound of Aemond’s voice, the warmth of his touch. She won’t mind. It burned into her, the reality she had been pushing aside - her time with him, their moments together, the intimacy they shared, all hinged on the indifference of another woman. Her existence in his life was allowed because someone else didn’t care enough to stop it.

But what if she did? What if this other woman, whoever she was, suddenly decided she did care? What if, one day, Aemond had to choose? She already knew the answer, and it made her stomach twist painfully.

Her mind raced, flicking through every moment they’d shared - every touch, every kiss, every lingering glance - and she saw it clearly now. This arrangement, whatever it was, wasn’t the casual thing she had imagined. It was precarious, temporary, held together by his convenience and Aemond’s careful balancing act between her and someone else. And if that balance tipped? If the other girl did mind?

The thought is ugly, but she can’t help it.

She’ll be the one left behind, a brief chapter in his life, an afterthought in the wake of his real relationship. The thought makes her sick. She doesn’t want to be with someone who can’t put her first, who keeps her around because it’s easy and doesn’t disrupt his life. She doesn’t want to be the girl waiting in the wings, always wondering when it’ll end, when she’ll be discarded because something else took precedence.

Aemond’s touch no longer feels like a comfort. His words, however sweet, now seem hollow. She wants him, yes—wants him desperately, but not like this. She doesn’t need him. Not so much that she would destroy herself, let herself be diminished, just to be with him.

She doesn’t want to help him keep up his image while he spends the entire night waiting to go back to her.

The realization hits her like a wave, flooding her with a clarity she hasn’t grasped before. She’s been clinging to him, holding on to the fragments of what they have because she thought she couldn’t let go. But now, she sees it for what it is. She deserves more than being someone’s second choice, someone’s convenience.

She exhales softly and looks at him, really looks at him. His sharp features, silver hair falling slightly into his eyes, his expression holding mild confusion as he notices her shift. He’s beautiful, enigmatic, the kind of person who draws you in without even trying. And she loves him. That much is clear. But she loves herself, too. And this—this isn’t good for her.

For a long moment, she stays silent, her heart thudding in her chest as she gathers the courage to say what she knows has to be said. Her eyes search his face, memorizing him, this moment. Because after this, everything will change. There will be no going back.

All of this is happening on borrowed time - she deserves more.

Before she can fully process her resolve, Aemond moves. In one swift motion, he lifts her effortlessly, a startled gasp escaping her lips as he throws her back onto the bed. Her body bounces lightly against the sheets, her heart pounding as she looks up at him. He looms above her, a quiet intensity in his eyes, and for a second, everything else fades away - there’s only him.

His thumb grazes her bottom lip, slow and deliberate, as if he’s committing the feel of her to memory. She can’t tear her gaze away, her breath hitching when he leans down, pressing his forehead against hers. The warmth of his skin, the closeness of his breath - it’s intoxicating, and despite everything, despite her earlier resolve, she feels herself crumbling.

“Come with me.” His voice is low, a quiet plea she can't resist. Their foreheads press together, breath mingling, and for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath.

Her heart wavers, but the word slips out before she can stop it. “Okay.”

And then he's on her, kissing her with an intensity that steals her breath. His hands roam her body, rough yet tender, like he can't get enough of her. She melts beneath him, her hands tangling in his silver hair, pulling him closer, deeper.

Their bodies move together, a rhythm they know too well. He pushes into her slowly at first, drawing out her pleasure until she's arching into him, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. His hands grip her hips, holding her steady as his thrusts become more urgent, more insistent.

She moans, her nails digging into his back under his shirt as she rides the waves of her release, trembling beneath him. But he isn’t done.

Before she can catch her breath, Aemond flips her over, positioning her on all fours. The cool air hits her back, sharp against the heat of his touch, and she shivers. His lips trace her spine with sweet kisses before he grips her hips again, pulling her back towards him.

Without warning, he thrusts into her hard and deep, and she cries out, her fingers clenching the sheets as he fills her completely. His movements are rough, every thrust powerful, almost desperate, as he chases his own pleasure. She can feel the tension in his body, the way his fingers dig into her skin, the low growl escaping his lips as he loses himself in her.

Each thrust sends her reeling, her body arching as he pounds into her, the bed creaking beneath them. The pressure builds again, her senses overwhelmed by the roughness of his touch, the way his body dominates hers. It’s primal, raw, and she gives in to it, letting the pleasure wash over her once more.

He moves faster, harder, his breaths ragged as he pushes them both to the edge. His fingers tighten on her hips, pulling her back into him with each powerful thrust, his control slipping. She feels him tense behind her, his rhythm faltering as he reaches his peak, his final thrusts erratic and frantic.

With one final, forceful push, he groans, his body trembling as he spills into her, his grip tightening as he holds her close. She gasps, her own body quivering from the intensity of it all, pleasure mingling with the rawness of what they’ve just shared.

Aemond shifts beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pulls her into his chest. His warmth envelops her, the steady rise and fall of his breathing soothing against her skin. She nestles closer, feeling the way his body fits perfectly around hers, his arm draped possessively over her stomach.

The room is quiet, just the sound of their breathing filling the space. She stares at the wall, her mind still spinning from everything—the way he held her, the feel of his body against hers. It feels so real, so perfect, and it terrifies her.

"I'm hungry," she whines.

And then, he laughs. It’s quiet, just a low chuckle, but she feels his whole body move behind her, his chest pressing into her back as his shoulders shake slightly. She doesn’t need to see his face to know how he looks when he laughs - his lips upturned slightly, the sound soft but genuine, his whole body leaning forward with it. It’s rare, but she cherishes it every time.

She smiles to herself, her heart swelling in her chest. She likes him too much, more than she ever thought she would. Maybe she even loves him. The thought sends a pang through her, bittersweet and undeniable. Loving him wasn’t supposed to happen, not like this, but it’s too late to deny it.

But she’ll leave soon. And when she comes back, she’ll tell him the truth. She needs to know if there’s space for her in his life, or if the woman he guards so fiercely already holds that place.

Her chest tightens at the thought. She wants to be the one he turns to, the one he holds like this, the one he laughs with. But she can’t let herself be second. Not again.

She closes her eyes, breathing in the moment, memorizing how it feels to be wrapped in his arms. Because when she returns, everything will change.

One way or another.

She sits cross-legged on Arianne’s living room floor, nursing a glass of wine as she absentmindedly swirls the deep red liquid around in her glass. The cozy, dimly lit flat is filled with the soft sounds of an old record playing in the background, casting a nostalgic haze over the room. Arianne, always effortlessly composed, lounges on the couch, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she watches her with a knowing look in her eyes.

"You sneaky little bitch," Arianne says, narrowing her eyes playfully, lips curving into a teasing smirk. She exaggerates a cross-eyed look, making her wince and laugh in guilt.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner,” she mumbles, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass.

“Yeah, you should have,” Arianne huffs, tossing a pillow at her. “I would’ve liked to know you were fucking Aemond Targaryen, for gods’ sake! Girl, you should have told me!”

She winces again, guilt gnawing at her. “I’m sor—"

“Aemond. Fucking. Targaryen of all people,” Arianne says, incredulous, her eyes wide as she takes a gulp of her wine. “He doesn’t seem like your type, though. What’s going on there?”

She blinks, a little taken aback by that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Arianne begins, leaning back into the couch with a lazy smile, “he’s Aemond Targaryen. The man calls Facebook ‘Book of the Face,’ for crying out loud. Posh, arrogant prick.”

“He’s posh? You’re a bloody Martell!” She retorts, raising her glass to her lips. “And for the record, he’s not even on Facebook.”

Arianne rolls her eyes dramatically. “Weird. I’d have thought the youngest one, Daeron, would’ve been more your type. The life of the party, you know?”

Of course, she’d say that. Arianne has known the Targaryens for most of her life. The Martells, like the Targaryens, are part of Westeros' seven most prominent families—the others being the Starks, Lannisters, Tullys, Tyrells, and Baratheons. In these circles, it’s not just about wealth or influence; it's about legacy. Apart from the reclusive Starks, the children of these families grow up in each other's orbits, attending the same elite schools, galas, and events that reinforce their status at the top.

Wherever life takes them, they find one another, keeping close within their exclusive, almost impenetrable social circle. Friendships and rivalries are passed down from generation to generation, their connections as powerful as the fortunes they control. She understands this better than anyone. Her family, after all, has sat on the board of Targaryen Consolidated for generations, their fates intertwined with the silver-haired dynasty. It’s a world where the personal and professional are inseparable, where trust is as valuable as the wealth that surrounds them.

She shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah, Daeron’s... charming in his own way, but he’s basically Aegon if he wasn’t trying to screw anything in a dress.”

Arianne bursts into laughter, loud and unfiltered, leaning her head back. “Aegon’s fun though! I’ve hooked up with him a couple of times, and the sex was goo-ood!”

She groans, burying her face in her hands. “Ew, stop!”

“I’m just saying,” Arianne continues, completely unbothered. “Aegon may be a bit of a mess, but at least he knows how to have a good time. Aemond, on the other hand…” She trails off, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by the whole situation. “I can’t believe you’re with him.”

She rolls her eyes, though a small smile tugs at her lips. “It’s not like that. Not really.”

Arianne scoots closer, intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”

She sighs, taking a deep breath before the words tumble out. “I think I’m falling for him, Ari. But... It's so confusing. I mean, I was in love with Daeron not even a year ago. How does that even look? Like I’m hopping from one brother to the other.”

Arianne’s teasing expression softens at that, and she reaches out, placing a hand on her knee. “You…” she says gently, her voice lacking its usual playful edge. “You’re not hopping from one brother to the next. You’re figuring out what you want. It’s okay to change, to grow. And it’s okay to love someone new.”

Arianne tilts her head, considering her words carefully. “Look, if Aemond thought you were confused, he wouldn’t be spending all this time with you. He’s smart—too smart to waste his time on something that doesn’t matter to him. And from what you’ve told me, it sounds like he does care about you.”

She lets the words sink in, her chest tightening. “But it’s so much more complicated. He’s seeing someone—or was seeing someone. I don’t even know. He says it’s not serious, but…”

Arianne lets out a sympathetic sigh, pulling her into a side hug. “You need to talk to him. Really talk to him. Figure out where you both stand.”

She leans into her, resting her head on Arianne’s shoulder. “I’m scared. What if telling him ruins everything?”

Arianne rubs her back gently. “And what if it doesn’t? What if this is exactly what you both need to figure out where you’re going? You can’t keep avoiding it.”

She takes a deep breath, nodding. “You’re right. I’ll talk to him when I get back.”

“And if it’s real,” Arianne adds softly, “you won’t lose him. But if it’s not... you’ll be okay. I think you deserve better anyway.”

“Stop!” She whines. She then smiles, feeling lighter. “Thanks, Ari.”

“Anytime,” Arianne grins, nudging her playfully. “Now, can we please watch something trashy and stop talking about your Targaryen boys? My brain needs a break from all this drama.”

She laughs, grateful for the distraction. “I brought soda and chips!”

Arianne cheers, grabbing the remote. “You know just how to spoil me.”

“Ae-mond, please…”

On their last night before her flight back to King's Landing, they move slowly together, every touch deliberate and heavy. Their bodies come together with a fervor that’s almost desperate, as if they’re trying to hold onto something that’s slipping through their fingers.

Each kiss feels like a search, an attempt to erase the lingering traces of someone else’s touch from his skin. She wonders if she’ll ever fully wash away the imprint of another’s fingertips, or if she’s merely adding her own layer to him. Every caress, every kiss is an exercise in forensics, a quest to mark him with her own brand, hoping that her touch will replace any remnants of someone else.

As he presses into her with a familiar, almost instinctive harshness, she can’t help but wonder if the other girl’s body was fuller, more curvaceous. The way he handles her, the way he’s rough and gentle all at once, speaks of an experience that goes beyond her. His touch is meticulous, as if he’s dedicated to exploring every contour of her body with a reverence she feels he must have practiced before.

She’s acutely aware that he isn’t new to the art of adoration. His hands, his lips, his entire presence seem to carry a certain expertise—each stroke, each touch is a testament to a history of worshiping a woman’s body with precision and care. He seems to know exactly where to touch, how to press, as if he’s memorized the map of desire and is determined to chart every inch of her.

With every touch, she is reminded that there is someone else. It breaks her like nothing else.

Aemond’s hands roam with purpose, tracing every curve, every hollow with a skill that leaves her breathless. She can’t shake the thought that this is a ritual of sorts, a final act of devotion before she departs. Each touch, each kiss feels like an affirmation of what they’ve shared, an attempt to seal their moments together into something tangible, something she can carry with her.

As she nears her release, her body arches and shudders beneath him, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He follows soon after, his movements urgent and final, his breath ragged against her skin.

Afterward, they lie together in the dim room, the sounds of crickets chirping softly through the open window.

“How are you getting to the airport?” His voice is soft in a way that she wishes she can bottle up and take with her.

“Dad’s sending a car to the flat,” she replies, her voice muffled by the pillow and his embrace.

The room is filled with the subtle buzz of the lamp and the gentle rustling of the curtains in the night breeze. Aemond pulls her close, his arms wrapping around her as he kisses her shoulder tenderly.

When they wake, he says nothing as she takes a shower in a hurry to leave. He cooks a quick breakfast for them both with whatever he could find in her fridge, and she eats like a woman starved. He kisses her gently before he lets her go, and she cannot help but think.

She’s leaving every inch of Aemond to another woman exclusively for three weeks. What if he decides he does not want her when she comes back?

Then the thought at the back of her mind resurfaces - that she’s the other woman. No matter what Aemond says, she knows that much to be true.

“Aemond…?” She murmurs, quickly debating whether or not she should tell him now, if only so that he’d be tempted to not push her aside completely in her absence.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” 

The words die on her tongue, just like a piece of her heart does when she gets on the plane.

The weeks pass by in a blur, and soon she finds herself standing in a crowded event hall, meeting her half-siblings after what feels like an eternity. Two of them are launching their new venture in the city, and the occasion has brought them all together. She interacts with them as much as she can, offering polite conversation and smiles, but she can’t help but feel a quiet astonishment at how little she truly knows about them. Despite the shared blood, they seem like strangers bound only by a distant connection.

It isn’t surprising, really. Jasper Wylde’s five children by his first wife had been adults long before he met her mother, and by the time she was born, the youngest of them was just leaving for college. The age gap, the separate lives - they had grown up worlds apart. There’s only so much they could have in common, and that knowledge weighs heavily on her as she exchanges pleasantries with them, feeling the disconnect more keenly with each passing moment.

She watches them closely - the way they move through the crowd, how they speak to each other with an ease that she’s never known with them. They have their own inside jokes, shared memories, and a rhythm that she’s never been a part of. It’s like watching a family dynamic she can’t quite break into, one she’s always been on the outskirts of. Even as they make small talk, she feels the invisible walls between them, the years of absence and unfamiliarity creating a distance that no amount of cordiality can erase.

But she plays her part—engages when they speak to her, listens as they recount their stories, and smiles when it’s appropriate. Yet all the while, she feels that sense of being on the outside looking in. They talk about their father, Jasper, with a familiarity that she can’t match, their experiences with him vastly different from her own. It’s clear that, in many ways, they had a father she never really knew.

What amazes her most, though, is how much closer she feels to the Targaryens than to her own blood. The realization strikes her with a quiet weight as she stands among her half-siblings, exchanging polite words, but never quite connecting. With the Targaryens, everything feels different—natural, easy, as though she belongs in their orbit in a way she never has with her own family.

With the Targaryens, she doesn’t feel like she’s on the outside looking in. She belongs. In their world, she’s more than just the youngest child of a man with a complicated past - she’s someone who matters.

Being home has made her feel strangely untethered. It’s not that she isn’t used to it—this distance from Aemond—but somehow, this time it feels different. Maybe it’s because she knows she’ll see him again soon, in just a matter of weeks, but it feels like the days are dragging by, each one marked by the weight of missing him.

She lies in bed late one evening, her phone resting on the pillow next to her, waiting for the familiar buzz. It’s become a routine—Aemond calling just before she falls asleep, his voice the last thing she hears at night. When the phone finally lights up with his name, she answers without hesitation.

"Hey," she says, trying to keep her voice casual, but her heart picks up the pace as soon as she hears his breath on the other end.

"Hey," he replies softly. There’s a brief pause, and she can hear the faint sounds of his apartment in the background—the muffled hum of traffic, the creak of his chair. "How’s home?"

"Fine, I guess. Quiet." She smiles a little, thinking of how everything feels slower here. "I saw my half-siblings today, for the launch thing."

"How was that?" His tone is neutral, but she knows he’s asking because he cares, not out of mere politeness.

"It was... weird. I don’t know, I barely know them. I guess I’m just realizing how distant we are." She pauses, feeling the words settle in the quiet between them. "I feel closer to your family than to mine. Maybe because yours is the better family. Although, I do have the better father."

He’s quiet for a moment, and she imagines him leaning back in his chair, considering her words. “I can assure you, your family is just fine. You don’t want mine.”

She laughs, a little caught off guard by the softness in his voice. "Yeah, maybe."

They fall into an easy rhythm after that, talking about nothing in particular—work, the weather, what he had for dinner. It’s all so simple, so familiar, and yet she finds herself hanging on every word, savoring the sound of his voice, the way he says her name. It’s the closest she can get to him right now, and it isn’t enough.

There’s a pause, and then Aemond asks, "So, how long now? Two weeks?"

She bites her lip, her heart skipping a beat. "Yeah, just about."

"You’re counting the days?"

She can hear the smile in his voice, and she feels her cheeks flush despite herself. "Maybe."

"You miss me," he says, his voice gentle, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement, and it lands with a weight that she can feel in her chest.

"Maybe I do," she admits quietly, her heart pounding. There’s a moment of silence, and in that space, the truth presses at the edges of her thoughts, threatening to spill out.

When she speaks again, her voice is softer, more serious. "Aemond, we need to talk.”

She hears him shift on the other end, a subtle rustling of fabric. "What is it?"

She hesitates, not ready to say it yet. "A conversation best had in person."

"Alright," he says, his voice low, almost tender. 

She hangs up, her heart racing, her fingers still gripping the phone tightly. The warmth of his words lingers, solidifying her resolve. When she sees him again, she’ll tell him. She’ll tell him everything.

The event takes place in a grand hall, tucked away in the heart of the city but worlds apart from the modern, bustling life outside. The walls are lined with rich mahogany wood, centuries-old oil portraits of stern ancestors in gilded frames, and shelves stacked high with leather-bound books whose spines are worn with age. 

She steps inside and is immediately enveloped in the hushed murmurs of conversation, the gentle clinking of crystal glasses, and the soft rustle of fabric as guests move gracefully through the dimly lit space. Despite the outward calm, there’s an electric tension in the air as the auctioneer lifts the gavel to announce each winning bid. There’s a certain satisfaction, almost smug, in the faces of those who come away with a prized possession, as if they’ve secured another piece of their heritage. For the others, there’s no outward disappointment—just a cool, composed silence, knowing there will be another opportunity to prove their worth.

She sits back, observing it all, feeling both a part of this world and strangely removed from it. The dark paneling on the walls, the rich smell of leather and smoke, the soft glow of the fireplace at the far end of the room - it’s all familiar, yet there’s something about it that feels performative, as if the evening is a carefully constructed illusion. The charity, the good intentions, seem secondary to the ritual of it all. As the final item is brought out - a centuries-old manuscript in a glass case - the room stills. In the end, the manuscript is sold for an astronomical price. The gavel falls with a sharp crack, and polite applause ripples through the crowd, though it’s more a gesture of respect than enthusiasm.

As the final round of applause fades, the grand oak doors at the back of the room swing open, and Viserys Targaryen steps forward. His presence is immediately felt, even if he looks frail and thinner than ever before. She heard from Aemond that he’d taken up residence at Dragonstone now, having bought an apartment for himself to stay after his parents' secret, unofficial separation.

"Ladies and gentlemen," his voice is smooth, warm, and commanding all at once, carrying easily over the subdued murmur of the crowd. "What a night this has been. I’m not sure what’s more impressive - the art we’ve auctioned off or the fact that some of you managed to keep your bids as discreet as you did. Subtlety, after all, is an art in itself," he says with a slight chuckle, eliciting polite laughter from the audience.

"Your generosity tonight is overwhelming," he continues, his tone shifting to one of sincere gratitude. "These contributions will go a long way in supporting the causes we hold dear, ensuring that history is preserved for future generations to appreciate - something I think we all understand better than most."

"And now," Viserys adds with a glint of amusement, "I know you’ve all been quite serious about your bidding, but it's time to relax a little." The room hums in agreement.

"Please," he gestures toward the doors leading to the adjoining ballroom, "join me for a night of music, dancing, and, of course, more wine. I think we’ve all earned it after such a spectacular evening."

With a final smile, Viserys steps down from the podium, the soft clapping of the crowd filling the room as guests begin to rise from their seats, gathering their evening coats and handbags. The heavy double doors to the ballroom swing open, revealing a space even grander than the auction hall. The light spills out, golden and inviting, as the soft strains of a string quartet begin to play from within.

She takes her father’s hand and walks in with him, their pace in tandem with each other. 

Do you think we’ll make it through this evening without someone bringing up a new investment opportunity?" she murmurs, her voice laced with dry amusement, eyes scanning the sea of chandeliers, gilded mirrors, and finely dressed people mingling as they enter the ballroom.

Jasper Wylde glances down at her with a half-smile. "Doubt it," he says. "There’s always someone with a 'brilliant' idea that just needs a little backing."

She lets out a soft chuckle. "Maybe we should place bets on who brings it up first."

"Ten crowns on Lord Massey," he says, his tone casual, but the glint in his eye betrays his amusement. "He’s been circling us all night."

"You're on," she replies, feeling lighter as they reach the grand archway leading into the ballroom. The gentle strains of the string quartet swirl around them, and she allows herself to soak in the surroundings.

Their moment of ease is brief. As soon as they step fully into the room, a cohort of middle-aged men in dark suits, all clutching glasses of whiskey, make their approach, their faces lighting up at the sight of her father. She can see the shift in his demeanor - the casualness dropping ever so slightly, replaced by a more guarded, professional air.

"Ah, here we go," Jasper mutters under his breath. 

One of the men, a stocky figure with graying hair and a booming voice, claps her father on the shoulder. "Ironrod, just the man we were looking for!" he says, raising his glass. "We were just discussing the latest venture down in Storm’s End. Care to weigh in?"

Her father gives her a rueful look, the corner of his mouth quirking as if to say I told you so. "Duty calls," he says softly to her, before turning to the group with a more affable expression. "Gentlemen, lead the way."

And just like that, he’s swept up into the conversation, nodding and exchanging knowing glances with the men as they disappear into a corner of the ballroom. Before she can fully orient herself, Daeron appears at her side, his usual easy grin plastered across his face.

"Well, look who it is," he says warmly, pulling her into a quick embrace. "I thought I'd have to search the entire ballroom to find you."

She laughs lightly. "I wasn’t hiding, just waiting for you to make your grand entrance. How was Essos?"

Daeron’s face lights up, and he launches into a recount of his summer abroad with Helaena, his energy infectious. "It was wild. Good time with Hel, she took me along to the coastline and we went around looking for almost-extinct bugs in Lys." He rolls his eyes but there’s fondness in his voice.

She smiles at the thought of Helaena. "Sounds like her. Where is she tonight?"

"With our grandfather and Aemond, somewhere over there," Daeron says, nodding toward a nearby cluster of people. Sure enough, she spots Helaena waving enthusiastically, her face alight with joy as she talks to Otto. Aemond, standing next to her, gives a small, almost imperceptible nod when their eyes meet. His gaze lingers for a moment longer than it should, and her heart stirs in response.

She can’t help but smile softly, and, on a whim, she winks at him. She’s had a bad feeling about this night ever since she woke, but it all dissipates massively the moment his gaze meets hers. He doesn’t react outwardly, but there’s something in his posture that shifts ever so slightly, a subtle acknowledgment.

Daeron catches the exchange but remains oblivious, laughing as he gestures to the ballroom. "Come on, let’s take a look around. It's the same as always, but a little darker, don't you think?"

“Perhaps,” she remarks dryly, glancing around at the decadent decor.

As they stroll through the room, their eyes catch Will Tyrell, who is deep in conversation with an older man near the far end of the ballroom.

"Ah, Will," Daeron says, grinning as he gestures toward him. "His father's expanding their business, you know. Will's been training to take over soon. Everyone's talking about it."

"I’ve seen him around campus," she replies, keeping her voice casual. "We almost hooked up once, actually."

Daeron raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Really? What happened?"

Her stomach twists at the memory, a flash of the panic that had overwhelmed her that night. She remembers calling Aemond, his voice steadying her over the phone as she told him where she was. He’d picked her up, no questions asked. The bitterness that rises in her throat is unexpected, but it’s there, sharp and real.

"Don’t even ask," she mutters, her voice tight as she glances away, trying to shake off the heaviness of the memory.

Daeron, sensing her shift in mood, just nods, his usual carefree demeanor faltering slightly. He doesn’t push for details, instead flashing her a soft smile as they continue to walk through the room, the tension between them dissipating into the hum of the ballroom.

"Oh look, it’s the little runts," Aegon drawls, his speech a bit slurred. He saunters toward them, an empty champagne flute dangling from his fingers, Sara Snow by his side. She’s looking slightly amused, though there’s a softness in her expression that suggests she's trying to rein him in.

"Aegon," Daeron greets him with mock surprise, a grin spreading across his face. “Dude you’re already drunk, mum’s going to kill you.”

"Give it time," Aegon quips with a lazy smirk. "The night’s still young, brother."

Sara stifles a laugh, though her eyes are warm as she glances up at Aegon. "I’m doing my best to make sure he behaves," she says, her voice carrying a playful edge.

"Oh, please," Daeron rolls his eyes. "Aegon behaving is like...what, dragons coming back to life?”

"Exactly," Aegon retorts. "No fun at all."

"Yeah, you're all fun and no taste," Daeron jabs back. "In...well, pretty much everything."

Aegon dramatically clutches his chest as if wounded. "Excuse you, I happen to have impeccable taste."

"Oh really?" she chimes in, unable to resist the tease. "Let's not forget the time you tried to convince everyone that that neon green sports car was ‘classy.’ Or when you spent a fortune on that God-awful abstract painting that looked like a child had spilled paint on a canvas."

Aegon raises an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "Hey, that car is an acquired taste, and the painting? It’s avant-garde. You wouldn’t get it."

Daeron bursts out laughing, shaking his head. "Right, keep telling yourself that."

But before anyone else can jump in, she adds with a smirk, "To be fair, Aegon has great taste in women."

Sara, who had been quietly listening, suddenly blushes furiously, her cheeks turning a deep shade of pink. She ducks her head, trying to hide her smile, but it’s clear she’s both flattered and embarrassed by the comment.

Aegon, however, grins wickedly. "Ah, finally, someone recognizes my true genius," he says, draping an arm around Sara, who shoots him a look but doesn’t pull away.

"Yeah, genius is the word I’d use," Daeron deadpans, earning another round of laughter from the group.

Aegon, noticeably tipsy and grinning like a Cheshire cat, leans in close to Sara, his words slightly garbled. "You know, Sara, I just remembered I left something...um, somewhere. How about we go find it together?"

Sara looks at him with a mixture of amusement and mild concern, but before she can respond, Aegon takes her hand and starts to guide her toward the door.

"Careful with that one," Daeron calls out, his tone light and teasing. "I’ve seen him turn a charity event into a rave before."

"Ah, don’t worry," she replies, her voice tinged with a hint of laughter. "I think he’s already got plans for a private after-party."

With a final chuckle, Daeron watches as they exit, the door closing behind them.

She turns back to Daeron, her gaze thoughtful. "By the way, what’s up with Floris? I haven’t seen her around tonight."

Daeron’s expression shifts, a shadow of sadness crossing his face. "Oh, um, we broke up," he says quietly, almost as if he’s still coming to terms with it.

Her heart twinges with genuine sympathy. "I’m really sorry to hear that. I hope you’re okay."

Daeron nods, managing a small, appreciative smile. "Thanks. It’s been...a lot. But I’ll be fine."

"Where is she, then? At the event, I presume?"

"Yeah, she’s here," Daeron confirms. "Probably with her parents and sisters. It was a bit weird to be honest.”

“I can imagine.” Just then, a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes comes by. They each take one, and Daeron is about to take a sip when he is called away by Otto Hightower.

As Daeron makes his way through the crowd, she turns to find Arianne Martell approaching her, her presence immediately drawing attention with her striking elegance. “You look amazing, Ari!”

Arianne’s eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief as she greets her. “So do you. But let’s cut to the chase. That’s not the Targaryen I was expecting to see you with tonight.”

“I haven’t told him yet. The time isn’t right. Soon though.”

“You mean you keep putting it off.”

“No, I just… I don’t know.”

“Look around you, babe. Half of these people are on the lookout - and those Targaryen kids? All their mothers are training their girls to get one. If my father had his way, I’d be throwing myself at Aegon!”

“Ari! Don’t be so crude.”

“I’m being realistic. Make your move.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m your best friend.” 

As they talk, she feels a strange unease settling in her stomach. Her gaze drifts across the room, taking in the opulence and the perfectly polished ambiance of the ballroom. Something about it all feels off, like there’s an underlying current she can’t quite grasp.

Noticing her silence and distant look, Arianne asks, “Is everything okay? You seem a bit… off.”

She hesitates for a moment before responding, “I don’t know. It’s just… something feels off. I have this gut feeling, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

Arianne’s brow furrows in concern. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, trying to shake off the unease. “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just the atmosphere. Everything is so perfect, almost too perfect.”

Arianne’s brow furrows in concern. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, trying to shake off the unease. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if it’s just me being paranoid or if there’s actually something going on.”

Arianne nods, her expression thoughtful. “It’s in your head babe. Calm down alright? You’ll be fine!”

Aemond finds them, cutting through the crowd with an ease that only someone accustomed to these events could manage. His presence alone seems to command attention, and she feels her heart flutter as he approaches. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, his breath warm and comforting. “You look pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and genuine.

Her eyes follow him as he straightens, unable to help herself from shamelessly ogling him. The way his dark suit fits him so perfectly, the sharp cut of his jaw, the glint of his eyes—it’s all so striking that she finds it hard to look away. He’s right in front of her, and yet he feels like a distant star that she can’t quite reach, but desperately wants to.

Arianne, ever perceptive, catches the look on her face and raises an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she says, her tone dripping with teasing. “You know, give you some space.”

She winks at them both before wiggling her eyebrows suggestively and slipping away into the crowd. Her departure leaves a space between them that feels both comforting yet like too much. “You look very nice,” she says.

Aemond’s lips curl into a faint, enigmatic smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he replies, his tone a mix of aloofness and affection that she finds utterly endearing. “Though I must say, I’m quite taken with how you look tonight.”

She catches his gaze, her smile widening. “Well, I’m glad I managed to impress you.”

His eyes twinkle with mischief. “You always manage to.”

There’s a pause, a moment of quiet intimacy, as their eyes lock. Aemond’s hand on her back feels reassuring, grounding her in the present. He then wordlessly gives her his hand, and she takes it. She always will, she is his.

With a gentle but purposeful tug, Aemond guides her through the maze of the ballroom, leading her into the darker, quieter corridors of the estate. The soft hum of distant conversations and the clinking of glasses fade as they move further from the main event.

Eventually, they reach a secluded room, dimly lit and private. Aemond closes the door behind them, cutting off the noise from the outside world. Without a word, he steps closer, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens. Aemond’s hands find her waist, his grip firm and possessive. 

His lips are demanding, their kisses fiery and passionate. She responds with equal fervor, her hands sliding up his chest to grip the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. The connection between them is raw, almost desperate, as if they’re trying to make up for lost time with every touch.

Aemond’s hands roam over her back, his fingers pressing firmly against her skin, as if he’s trying to imprint her presence into his memory. She can feel the heat of his body through the fabric of their clothes, the tension in his muscles as he holds her tightly.

She gasps into his mouth as he pulls her even closer, his touch igniting a fire within her. His hands travel down to her waist, pulling her flush against him, his lips trailing hot, urgent kisses along her jawline and down her neck. She arches into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair, drawing him back to her lips with a desperate hunger.

Gods, she likes him too much for her own good.

Finally, their lips part, and they break away, both gasping for breath. The room is filled with a lingering tension, the air heavy with the intensity of their embrace. They take a moment to collect themselves, their faces flushed and eyes still locked in a shared, heated gaze.

Aemond gently brushes a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender despite the fervor of their earlier kisses. “I have to go shake more hands,” he says, his voice reluctant. He offers a small, apologetic smile, his knuckles lingering on her cheek for a moment longer before he pulls away. “I’ll find you later.”

She nods, her heart still racing from their encounter. “Okay,” she replies softly, her voice a touch breathless. She watches as he turns to leave, and the moment he does - the feeling of unease comes back.

She walks back into the ballroom, smoothing down her dress and taking a deep breath to calm the rapid beat of her heart. The lingering warmth from Aemond’s touch is still on her skin, but the feeling of unease that had vanished in his presence now returns in full force.

As she steps further into the room, she spots a familiar face from across the crowd - one of the curators from the Westeros National Museum. He strides toward her with a knowing smile, gesturing to a nearby exhibit of her ancestor Coryanne Wylde’s paintings. “I was just about to ask if you’d seen these,” he says as they exchange pleasantries. “It’s rare to come across someone with a direct connection to the artist.” She smiles in response.

The curator nods in appreciation, and together, they walk over to the group of art enthusiasts who are gathered around the paintings. As they approach, she immediately recognizes someone else among them: her professor Alys Rivers. The professor’s sharp gaze softens slightly when she spots her, clearly surprised to see her here.

“Professor! So good to see you here, I wasn’t expecting you! Are you with someone?”

Alys chuckles lightly, offering a polite smile and points her finger beyond her shoulder. “That’s my brother.” She raises her eyebrows as she follows her gaze and raises an eyebrow. “Your brother’s Headmaster Strong?”

“My half-brother, yes. Which explains the different surnames.”

“Wow, small world.”

“We were just discussing some of the first-edition Volantene classics that we’ve been trying to source for the museum,” one of the curators says, a note of excitement in his voice. “A few Valyrian classics as well. It’s been quite the hunt.”

Her interest piques at the mention of Valyrian literature. The conversation drifts toward a particular Valyrian classic, The Last Embrace, and her attention locks in immediately, memories of Aemond reading it to her still vivid in her mind. One of the curators leans forward, adjusting his glasses.

“It’s such a beautiful work,” he says. “That passage where they talk about love being both a gift and a curse? The language is so intricate, it’s no wonder it’s one of the rarest Valyrian texts we’ve managed to preserve.”

Another curator nods in agreement. “Yes, I believe the exact line is something about love being a disease, but one we choose to suffer from?”

Before Wylde can speak, Professor Rivers steps in, her voice measured and calm. “Love is a disease of the mind, but one we willingly suffer for. It’s one of the most poignant lines in the entire text.”

Wylde's breath catches at the familiarity of the words. It was the same phrase he had marked, tracing the words as he read.

“That line,” Professor Rivers continues, “it’s always struck me. The complexity of love in Valyrian culture—how it could be both destructive and profound at the same time.”

The first curator smiles thoughtfully. “It’s fascinating how much depth there is in just one sentence. That’s what makes it a masterpiece. We’ve been trying to source a first-edition copy for years now.”

Rivers nods. “It’s difficult to find. I was lucky enough to own one of the first editions. Loaned it to someone close a while back, actually.”

Her chest tightens. The same line. The same book. She tries to push the thought away, but it grips her, the unease from earlier settling deep in her bones.

I know someone who can find the premium first edition copies, he had said.

But she doesn’t even teach him. And he’s Aemond Targaryen - he probably knows a hundred people of resource who can find him all the books he wants.

But there’s only three known copies of the first print in Westeros…

The feeling of unease that she had pushed aside the entire night comes back in full force - she doesn’t know why. It is a nagging feeling that refuses to go away, and she does not know what she’ll do about it.

Before she can dwell on it further, an attendant addresses her. He tells her that her father is asking for her from across the room. She excuses herself, turning away from the group with a polite smile. As she moves, she catches a fleeting glimpse of Professor Rivers’ necklace, the light glinting off the familiar design. Her breath falters.

She recognizes it.

A few months ago, she had seen that very necklace at Aemond’s apartment. She remembers asking him about it, how he had alluded to it belonging to a woman that he’s seeing. At the time, she hadn’t pressed him, unsure if she even wanted to know the details.

One of the curators points out the necklace, commenting on its unique craftsmanship. “That’s a Strong family heirloom, isn’t it?” he asks with admiration. “Quite the rare piece. One of a kind, if I’m not mistaken.”

Alys smiles, her hand brushing over the pendant. “Yes, it is. Passed down through generations. Only one of a kind.”

She feels like the ground is shifting beneath her feet. She can’t stop the flood of thoughts now, the connections falling into place. Her chest tightens as she pulls away from the group, her steps unsteady, her mind whirling with possibilities she doesn’t want to entertain.

No. It’s not what you think. It can’t be.

“It’s very beautiful, professor,” she says. “It was… uhm… it was nice to see you here. I’m going back to… my father’s expecting me.” The torrid nature of her thoughts shows on her face, and she can feel her palms sweating as the music and the crowd threaten to overwhelm her.

“Are you alright, Ms Wylde? You seem quite disoriented,” her professor says. She holds her onto her elbow to help steady her even if she hasn’t quite careened to the floor yet. Her skin burns where she holds her, and she wonders if she knows.

She looks her professor straight in her eyes, hoping to find any recognition. Then again, she doesn’t want to know too. 

“No, just… you know how these things can be. They tire you out quickly I suppose. I’m just going to…” 

She walks out of the ballroom and into the vast expanse of open gardens. She breathes and breathes and breathes.

It can’t be.

MASTERLIST

NO TAG LIST. PLEASE FOLLOW AND TURN ON POST NOTIFS FOR @randomdragonfics for fic updates!

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

TW: Sim Spice / Violence

DJ Plays: I Get Around- Tupac Shakur

Transcript under the cut

Nancy Narrates: [When church and prayer stopped providing solace, I felt lost, just as the cards predicted. Thoughts of Vanessa continued to consume me, leaving me hollow and desperate to feel anything at all]

Becca: [whispers] Is this seat taken?

Nancy: [whispers] The bench is kind of full, Becca-

Becca: [whispers] It’s ok! I’ll just squeeze right in!

Geoffrey: [whispers] Oh. Hey Becca.

Becca: [whispers] Hii Geoffrey! Looking very handsome in your sweater!

Geoffrey: [whispers] Aw, thanks! Nancy dresses me. [chuckles]

Becca: [whispers] She obviously has such great taste.

Becca: [squeals] Go Geoffrey!! Woooo hooo!

Becca: Nancy! Nancy, did you see that? Oh, he is so athletic! No wonder, I mean he has the perfect physique for it.

Nancy: [sighs] Trying to study, please.

Geoffrey: [panting] Hey! Are you hungry?

Becca: I could eat!

Geoffrey: Oh! Well...I was kind of asking-

Becca: Oh! So, there’s this diner that I can take you to. I mean, the both of you! I’ve gone there since I was knee high and it’s sooo good! The best key lime pie you could eat and more. We’ll go after your practice, Mr. Hungry Man.

Geoffrey: [chuckles] Ok? Yeah, then it’s a date, I guess. Gotta get back to it. I love you, Nancy.

Becca: [sighs] Can I ask you a question?

Nancy: Sure?

Becca: Are you still a virgin?

Nancy: [hisses] Excuse me?! That’s personal, don’t you think?

Becca: [giggles] I’m not asking to be nosy, sister! I’m asking because I marvel at your strength in resisting temptation. Geoffrey is beautiful but your love for God is strong. I’m still pure too, by the way. I’m sure other girls struggle with those desires. Not us, right, Nancy?

Bob: I’ll leave you love birds to it. This eagle got a hot date with a cutie pie named Eliza. Don’t wait up.

Nancy: [snorts] Go get ‘em tiger!

Geoffrey: Be home at a decent time young man! No funny business!

Bob: Ok, dad! See you guys!

Nancy: So. Becca sure is your biggest fan, isn’t she? Always giving you eyes and pushing her big chest in your face. Is that what you like?

Geoffrey: [laughs] What? Where’s all this coming from?

Nancy: [rolls eyes] She’s always there, waiting for the right moment to jump on you. It’s infuriating.

Geoffrey: [laughs] Aw, come on, Nance. She’s just- being Becca. It’s nothing like that.

Nancy: So, I’m making it all up? Is that it?

Geoffrey: [softly] Hey. I only ever want to look at you, Nancy. You’re all I see.

Nancy: You promise? You’ll never leave me?

Geoffrey: I promise.

Nancy: Do you forgive me?

Geoffrey: [frowns] What-

Nancy: Just say yes, please. Say you forgive me.

Geoffrey: I forgive you.

Nancy: [breathlessly] I need you.

Geoffrey: I thought you wanted to wait? A-are you sure?

Nancy: [shakes head] Your mouth. Use your mouth. Hurry. Please..

Geoffrey: Ok. [swallows nervously] Ok, I’ll take care of you.

DJ Plays: I Get Around- Tupac Shakur

Back to get wrecked, all respect To those who break their neck to keep their hoes in check

‘Cause, oh, they sweat a brother majorly And I don't know why your girl keeps pagin' me

She tell me that she needs me, cries when she leaves me

And every time she sees me, she squeeze me—lady, take it easy!

Hate to sound sleazy, but tease me I don't want it if it's that easy

Eliza: [laughs] How do you survive being around all these dumb boys all day.

Nancy: It’s alot easier than it looks.

Teammate: We’re running low on ice!

Teammate: Make the freshmen get it!

Geoffrey: Ok, ok! I’ll get it!

Becca: Hi Geoffrey.

Geoffrey: Oh, hey Becca! What’s up?

Becca: You had such a great season. I bet you’re really proud.

Geoffrey: I’m just glad I finally found a sport I don’t suck at it.

Becca: Can I help you bring up the ice?

Geoffrey: Ahhh, sure! More the merrier.

Geoffrey: 4 should be enough, right? What do you think?

Becca: I think so too. You know, I was hoping to get some advice, if that’s ok.

Geoffrey: You want my advice?

Becca: I do. One thing this campus lacks are sensitive, beautiful men like you. Only you would understand how I feel.

Siobhan: Enjoying yourself, Nancy? One of the many perks of being a Theta are our legendary parties. Have you thought about pledging?

Nancy: I don’t know. Being around a bunch of women? I wouldn’t enjoy that.

Siobhan: Honey, there’s nothing more empowering than being around women, especially strong women. Look, we are hosting a charity fundraiser this weekend at the art gallery. You should come. We’ve invited all our alumnae as well.

Nancy: [stunned] My mother will be there?

Teammate: [snorts] He‘s probably being preached at by that church girl.

Eliza: Oh, yeah. I saw her follow him out. Bella? Brianna?

Nancy: Becca?

Geoffrey: Whoa! Um, w-what are you doing?

Becca: Do you struggle with resisting temptation?

Geoffrey: Resisting- Huh??

Becca: I ask because, no matter what I do, I still want to look extra pretty just for you. I bought this dress with you in mind. Do you like it?

Becca: Do you like the way it hugs my body?

Geoffrey: Um...you know I’m with Nancy, right? She’s my girlfriend.

Becca: What do you see in her anyway? She’s so cold and detached from you. I never see her smile when she’s with you. She never looks at you the way I do. I noticed the way you smile when you look at me though. I think we’d be so good together.

Geoffrey: Ok, stop! Becca, I don’t feel the same way!

Becca: [frowns] You don’t? But you’re so nice to me. Don’t you like me?

Geoffrey: You’re a really nice girl, Becca. I know you’ll make some guy so happy one day, but I can’t be that guy for you. I love Nancy. She’s complex but that’s what I love about her. I always will.

Geoffrey: Wait- don’t cry! Please don’t cry. Look, let’s forget this ever happened and just grab the ice and- Nancy?

Nancy Narrates: [I don’t know what came over me]

Nancy: Touch him again, I will fucking kill you.

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Selina: Batsy, I'm glad you paid and are helping my new cats get spayed, neutered, chipped and let them stay at your house.

Bruce: It's what I do. You're my girlfriend after all.

Selina: Love you too, one issue, three of them are missing. I know because the chips show three at different houses. Did you let some of the kids take care of them?

Bruce: Why... Why are you asking?

Selina: Well I left you with seven of them. Damian said he'd watch them, but-

Bruce (coming up with a lie): You know what, I did let some of them watch the cats. You said three, right?

Selina: Yeah, it's fine though. I trust your kids, but next time tell me, okay babe?

Bruce: That I will, can I see the tracker for a moment?

Selina: Sure. It's connected to the chips and you can see the addresses they're at. Seems Isabelle is with Dick, Astronaut is with Jason and Batsy is with... Hmm Barbara. Huh? Didn't think she liked cats.

Bruce (laughing nervously): That is something she is into. One moment, please.

Bruce runs out of the room with his phone, to a secret room in the manor and sets up a three-way call for the culprits.

Dick: Hey Bruce.

Barbara: Is this important?

Jason: Is it, because I'm busy!

Bruce: Why? Why did you take her freaking cats without asking me!

Dick: ...

Barbara: ...

Jason: ...the only cat I have is Austen.

Two different meows are heard in the background of his call.

Bruce: Let me make this clear, I can tell when you are lying!

Dick (relenting): I'm sorry, she's so cute and precious and makes air biscuits! Damian couldn't take care of all of them so I just decided to borrow her until she has to go home.

Jason: Once he took one I thought he was ri- right and I stepped up and did my civic duty as a "hero" to take care of Astronaut, who is so fluffy and plump! Oh God, did I say that out loud.

Bruce (exhausted, but smiling): You two caved, Barbara what's your defense? You said you didn't like cats.

Barbara: Give me a break, Batsy is adorable.

Jason: You took the black hairless one? It looks like a plucked chicken.

Barbara: Sphinx cats are valid cute cats and he like snuggles. I'm snuggling him currently and he's wearing a sweater. I will take care of him until he has to go back with Selina I promise! God he's so cute!

Batsy is heard meowing softly in the background.

Bruce laughs surprising his kids and Barbara.

Barbara: You're not mad?

Bruce: No this is fucking funny to me. You could've taken some in, just ask next time.

Dick: You're not going to let us live this down, are you?

Bruce: Nope. Bring them back next Thursday.

Bruce ends the call while continuing to chuckle.

Bruce: I love this insane family.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

A Delicate Flower

Martha Hudson may seem frail and vulnerable to people who don’t know her. Those who have made her acquaintance in one capacity or another, retracts their claim quite quickly. Even the British government has a secret appreciation for her. She’s a force of nature, just like her two tenants upstairs. Speaking of…

“NO! Absolutely not!” John shouts.

Martha picks up on Sherlock’s protest but not his exact words. Therefore, she hurries to grab a tin of biscuits to bring upstairs. It’s been silent for weeks, and she has begun to wonder if John has tamed Sherlock into a boring adult. 

When she emerges in the doorway to 221B, she regrets that she didn’t bring popcorn. Sherlock’s tantrum is at least a seven on Martha’s secret scale. (Mind you, not only consulting detectives have those.) 

“It’s my blog, John!” Sherlock exclaims. “To do with as I please. You’ve said it yourself that it’s too scientific. Adding you into the equation, will make it much more interesting. People want to know things about you too. I don’t understand why it bothers you to this extent.”

His hands have done significant damage to his curls. He looks like a mix between a deranged scientist and a petulant child. In Martha’s book he’s habitually both.

“Well, it does,” John counters defiantly.

The good doctor is childishly stubborn sometimes, but he rarely budges if the topic is important to him. More often than not, it’s the delicate flower of a genius that gives in when he realises that the battle is lost. And then, he craves the physical closeness only his army doctor can provide.

Martha looks around, trying to discover what the argument is about. When she realises what it is, she’s glad she didn’t choose the popcorn, or John would’ve needed to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on her.

She stifles a laugh and Sherlock stares daggers at her. He actually stomps his feet like a toddler, and a choked sound escapes her throat.

Petri dishes with different ash samples are placed on the kitchen table. Each item is carefully marked. Martha only glimpses a few that are in her field of vision.

John’s shoelaces – Wool from John’s favourite jumper – John’s pants (the red/sexy ones)

Martha leaves the biscuit tin on the table and descends to 221A to indulge in her herbal soothers. 

Murmuring voices half an hour later tell her that peace has been restored. For now.

----------------------------------------------------------

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely

@jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982

@meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie

@lhrinchelsea @missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12 @jawnscoffee

@gay-ass-bitch @acumberlockedgirl @williamholmeswatson @whatnext2020

(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

[flxnce]

my dipcifica fics masterlist

okay so i recently got very obsessed with writing dipcifica fanfiction and wanted to post them to here but am too lazy to post each one individually so bam, masterlist

smoke break: dipper is a smoker and pacifica runs into him while working a particularly stressful shift at the diner

even better than in my head: the continuation to smoke break. mabel, dipper, pacifica, and her roommate all go out for the night

never been so glad to be so tired: pacifica has a sleepover at the shack with mabel, her and dipper are in an established relationship and are super in love (this is my personal favorite)

time, space, and a-pluses: single mother pacifica au where she is the mother to an adorable child named brittany who's favorite teacher happens to be a mr. pines

Dipper Pines sits down with Variation Magazine: magazine interview formatted actor au where dipper tells the story of how he and pacifica got together

black coffee and black hair dye: barista/tattoo artist au drabble

[pastafossa]

Something really special and tear inducing happened with Pip today.

(TW for pet loss, not mine but someone else's)

So we were going into the vet for a quick shot he needed, and for a final check on the cut on his leg. So me and him got there pretty close to closing (final appointment of the day), around 3:45 when it closed at 4. And as I'm walking in, I pass a woman hurrying out. She's in tears, and my heart just breaks for her. She gives Pippin a quick, 'hi puppy' and shaky pet in passing.

But then we go through the door into the waiting room. And another woman is sitting there on the bench, cradling a small collar and just sobbing. Sure enough, the little candle is lit up on the counter for pet loss. And I'm not sure what to do - do I offer a hug? Tell her I'm sorry for her loss?

But Pippin decided he knew what to do.

I need you to understand Pip for a second. He has been with us for 3 weeks. The rescue/foster before us had him for 6. This dog is only 9 weeks removed from that horrible farm where he was beaten, neglected, and left outside by himself at all hours and seasons. He did not have love or training. So, he's learning. He still jumps a bit, paws at people. He walks ok on a leash, like he'll pull but not yank, and he's easily distracted. Easily excited by love or attention because he's not used to it. I do not think this dog has ever seen someone cry. He has not been trained to know what to do when someone is upset.

So there's Pip, seeing this distraught woman sobbing in front of him, with - as far as we know - no experience or context he could make a decision by.

In a heartbeat, I'm yanked across the room - something he does not do - so he can reach this woman. He abruptly slows for the final approach, tail gently wagging, and very softly nuzzles at her in a way I haven't seen him do before. And this poor woman reaches down, carefully cradles Pip's head, and whispers, "hi baby, soft boy. My boy was soft too."

And then she just... cries with him, her head on his.

I glance at the receptionist (who may have teared a little like I had) and I kinda tip my head towards them, a 'can I wait to check in?'. I get a nod, and a mouthed, 'we can wait.'

So I just sat down quietly next to her. Let her cry and pet him. He'd done his big lean on her legs with his head in her lap, carefully adjusting whenever she did. After about five minutes she told us - me and Pip - about her dog. 18 years old, one she'd had since he was a puppy. She showed Pip her dog's collar, and showed me pictures on her phone of this dog, a cute little white fluffball with a HUGE doggy grin. And she pets Pippin more, and asks about him - his name, how long we've had him, whether he can sit yet because her boy took a bit to learn. We talk about Pip's skinny head and I get a watery laugh out of her when I tell her I call him corndog brain since I'm pretty sure the only way a brain could fit in his long narrow head was if it was corndog-shaped and went down his snout. We're there for about fifteen minutes before a tech comes out with nose and paw prints and she stands up. Pippin stays right with her, leaning calmly against her side as she takes the prints, her fingers buried in all the fluff around his neck. She gets a hug from the tech, and then leans down to do the same to Pip. And before she goes (Pippin trying very much to follow), she looks at me and just quietly says, '...thank you for letting me borrow him. I needed that.'

I have no idea how Pippin knew what to do, or how he can be like this even after being treated the way he was. But I'm really glad he could help that woman.

[j-nakamura]

♡— Newcomers, Announcements, & Exclusive.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Hi everyone! Welcome back to our second article posting of 'TSOTH'. It's an honor for many to be interested in what I have to write! We have multiple students to introduce, so let's get to it!

(click keep reading to see the rest of the article)

Coming into the new year, I am proud to say that we have multiple new students that we should welcome into our school! I got a chance to interview a few of them, so I'm here to give everyone a warm welcome with some personal information that I received from each of them. :)

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Let's start off with Cassie Sandsmark. ( @cassandra-e-sandsmark )

Cassandra Sandsmark is fifteen years old and goes by the pronouns they/she. She is from Gateway City, California (what a long way from home!), and they prefer to have people call them Cassie or Cass.

In the past, she has been to over 5 boarding schools! So let's hope she sticks to the landing with this school and does not get expelled like she did in her past schools. If you bump into them in the hallway, beware! you may end up fighting!

In other good news, they're interested in Soccer and Football. Make sure you go out to those games to support her!

Up next we have Moss Verner! ( @moss-loves-dinosaurs )

Moss Verner is a sixteen-year-old foreign exchange student from New Zealand! They're nearly seventeen, and have been enjoying being in a new country so far! They use the pronouns they/he and go by Moss. Feel free to stop them in the hall to say hello!

So I was informed by a little birdie that Sir Moss Verner had superpowers... However, when I asked about them directly, they had left no comment on the sudden address asking if it was true or not. We may have a new vigilante on our hands, everyone!

Moving on from that little rumor, Moss wanted me to let everyone know that they would be making a new club! A D&D club! Go ahead and message them with any questions you may have about it! I'm sure Moss would greatly appreciate it.

Up next is Jaime Reyes! ( @jaimereyesbug )

Jaime Reyes uses he/him pronouns and is from El Paso, Texas. He's sixteen at the moment but turning seventeen next month! Make sure to wish him a happy birthday once the month hits!

Jaime, unfortunately, is very far away from home. He says he misses his family, but he's glad he got away from that state due to it being extremely homophobic. Good thing he's able to text his family members in order to cure his homesickness!

Speaking of sickness, I think Jaime must've caught the love flu. Considering that notion, be aware of your surroundings as the love flu strikes more victims!

Second to last, we have Corus Lim-W! ( @corus-lim-w )

Corus Lim-W is a sixteen-year-old who uses any pronouns! He requested that people try not to use only one set of pronouns for her, so keep that in mind! They are from Gotham (another one!), and he does not really have any nicknames for people to call them. She did mention that people from their old school called him "Cor'! They're really interested in art so maybe you can bond with him over art classes!

Taking note out of the interview, Corus has been able to tell what would happen before it's happened. I'd say that's some amazing deja vu or far-seeing sight if you asked me!

Now, I have to mention this, but does anyone else wonder what the 'W' stands for in their username? Well, I have a theory.... and I think it fits. The W stands for Wayne! See! Hear me out, he's from Gotham AND who has the biggest name in Gotham that starts with the letter W? BRUCE WAYNE. Could Corus be Mr. Wayne's secret love child?

Finally, we have Mikael (no last name. unfortunate. :'( ) ( @mikael1256 )

Mikael is seventeen years old and was born in New York. I never received what pronouns they prefer so for the majority of this writing process, I will be using they/them strictly due to this fact.

Mikael lives in a family that travels! They traveled all over the place until their father decided to reside in Gotham. While talking about the traveling they did, they mentioned that their favorite place to travel to was Montana.

Now... I'm totally not one to start rumors, but throughout that entire interview, Mikael did not blink once. I promise I am NOT crazy bruh.

Anyways, that wraps up introductions! Let's move on to announcements.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

ANNOUNCEMENTS;

Journalism Club is having a meet & greet event on Thursday @ 4 pm! Come visit and learn more about Journalism. We're recruiting AND free snacks & drinks. Anyone is welcome to come!

The Dance Team is having tryouts on Friday @ the dance studio! Make sure to practice a dance routine so you're able to showcase it on Friday! If you have any more questions, feel free to message Morgan Drew! ( @midrew )

That's all for Announcements. Moving on to our exclusive of the week. :)

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

I have been submitted a writing piece to publish in this week's issue! I believe it's written over the newfound popular ship that's been going around called "DukeJay" (so silly).

Here it is and feel free to leave your feedback about it in the comments!

Hands cling to toussled pink hair as brown eyes widen. "Duke..." Jay whispers, pressing his fingers to the other's lip.

Once upon a time his voice would have incited anger in Duke. Irritation, annoyance.

But something about the way the other stared at him with those warm brown eyes sparked something within him. A flutter he struggled to push down.

Wow! That was.... interesting to read!

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Thank you all for reading this week's "The Stories of Tripolis High" issue! I hope you enjoyed reading it! Anyways, Jay Nakamura is out until next time... ;)

[kikyoupdates]

Girlfriend-For-Hire ⭑˚🦋⭑ 𝟶𝟸

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Hoping to try something new and earn a bit of money on the side, you join an app that lets people hire you for your dating services. The idea is pretty straightforward — you pose as the client's girlfriend for a brief period of time, and in turn, you receive payment. But you didn't foresee everyone getting so attached to you, and suddenly, they're no longer satisfied with a fabricated relationship.

previous | story masterlist | next

“Shit. I know it’s a bit late now, but I really don’t want to be here.”

Isaac exhales shakily. You’ve just arrived at your destination and are standing awkwardly in front of his parents’ house. He’s clearly reluctant to go in, no doubt dreading whatever is about to unfold. 

You flash him a sympathetic smile. Since he went as far as to hire someone to act as his girlfriend, he must be desperate to appease his parents. Life is difficult enough without being pressured to do things you don’t want. You just hope that after tonight, they’ll ease up and give him some space. 

“It’s going to be okay,” you promise. You’re not quite sure where you’re getting your confidence from, since this is your very first day on the job, but no matter what it takes, you intend to play your part. 

Even though you’re quite nervous as well, you still muster up the courage to reach out and grab Isaac’s hand. 

“We’ve got this,” you reassure, gently squeezing his fingers. “I’ve memorized everything you told me and I can recite it without a moment’s delay. They won’t be suspicious of us. I’ll do a good job.” 

Isaac briefly glances down at your comparatively smaller hand, which is tightly grasping his own. Whether it’s the warmth of your touch or the sincerity of your words, either way, he looks a bit more optimistic than he did a few seconds ago. 

“Okay,” he nods. “You’re right. I’m ready now. Let’s do this.” 

With a resolved expression, he rings the doorbell, and after a few moments, someone opens the door.

“There you are!” a woman beams. She must be Isaac’s mother, and you have to admit, she looks a lot friendlier than you were expecting. “I’m so glad you’re both here! You especially, [Name]. We were over the moon when we heard that Isaac was bringing his girlfriend!” 

Her gaze briefly pans down, and she notices the two of you are holding hands. This, of course, was completely intentional on your end, and by the looks of things, it seems to be doing a good job of convincing her. 

“Thank you so much for having me,” you smile politely. “It’s really nice to meet you. I hope I didn’t surprise you too much by showing up without much prior notice.” 

“Oh, of course not,” she reassures. “Isaac was the one who decided to keep us in the dark, for whatever reason. But it doesn’t matter. We’re just happy he’s finally found someone! It’s not good to be all alone at his age. He’s at the stage of his life where he needs to start seriously considering his future.” 

Isaac does his best to hide it, but you still notice how his lips momentarily split into a grimace. 

“I’m Mary-Ann, by the way,” his mother smiles. “My husband was just finishing up with setting the table. He can hardly wait to meet you as well.” 

You nod, still smiling pleasantly, and Mary-Ann leads you through the house until you reach the dining room, where Isaac’s father is waiting. 

Unlike his wife, who has a much more agreeable demeanor, he is stern-faced and imposing. To be honest, he kind of reminds you of your own father a bit. Both of them seem like the type to be needlessly strict and abstain from showing their child any affection. 

Then again, first impressions can often be misleading, so you could very well be wrong. 

“Isaac,” the man snaps. “What took you so long to tell us you were in a relationship? Do you get a kick out of deceiving your parents? I’m starting to get really fed up with your lack of respect. I didn’t raise you to be such a prick.”

…nevermind, you’re spot-on. 

“Come on, honey,” Mary-Ann scrambles to intervene. She must be the mediator in the family, or as close as it gets to one. “Don’t be so confrontational right off the bat. Let’s just focus on the fact that he actually has a girlfriend now, okay? Please help me make our guest feel at home.” 

Isaac’s father finally turns towards you, still with that cold look in his eyes, but again—you’re used to receiving the same treatment from your own father.

When it comes to dealing with shitty parents, you’ve got a lifetime of experience in your arsenal.

“It’s very nice to meet you, sir.” You maintain your smile, never allowing it to falter in the slightest. “I’m sorry if we surprised you with this news. I think Isaac was just trying to be considerate of me. I’m a very private person, and he probably didn’t want to tell his family right away to avoid putting pressure on me. But I really do apologize, and I’m glad that we’re finally meeting now.” 

You know all too well what kind of person he is. He values respect and subservience above all else, and so long as you tell him what he wants to hear, it should be fine. 

Well, theoretically, at least. 

But much to your relief, his irritation dissipates quickly enough at the sight of you. Just like his wife, he must be relieved that Isaac is finally seeing someone. It sounds like they’re extremely concerned with the state of his romantic affairs—even though they shouldn’t be. 

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you, [Name],” he nods, offering a tight-lipped, but genuine smile. “I’m Michael. There’s no need to apologize for anything. Isaac is our son, so it was still up to him to confide in us. But I guess what matters most is that he’s finally found himself a girlfriend. For a while there, we were worried that he might not even be interested in women, if you know what I mean.” 

You force yourself to keep smiling, despite the fact that your stomach just dropped. 

Just casually sprinkling in a bit of discrimination on our very first meeting. Fantastic. This is off to a strong start. 

“For fuck’s sake, Dad,” Isaac mutters under his breath.

Michael arches a brow. “Did you say something?” 

“...no.” 

It’s obvious that there’s friction between the two of them, and you can’t blame Isaac for wanting to bury this issue as quickly as possible. 

If you want to receive positive reviews—but above all else, to actually help someone—you’d better do a good job. 

“Anyways, the food is all ready, so please take a seat,” Mary-Ann says, gesturing towards the dining table. You offer her a smile in return, grabbing a seat just beside Isaac. You take it upon yourself to sit across from his father so that he doesn’t have to, and based on the appreciative look he gives you, it clearly doesn’t go unnoticed. 

Mary-Ann happily hums as she heads into the kitchen to bring the food out. You offer to help her carry a few plates, but she insists that you’re the guest and you don’t need to worry about a thing. 

“Your girlfriend has better manners than you do,” Michael tuts. “You should have been the one to offer to help your mother. I wonder when you’re going to grow up.” 

Isaac’s expression darkens. “Okay. You’re right. Sorry.” 

“There’s no point in apologizing. Just be more considerate in the future. Ever since you moved out, I can tell you’ve become rather self-centered.” 

Fucking hell. This really is like a sit-down with your own parents. It’s every bit as uncomfortable as you remember it being, but the only difference is that, as much as your parents were shitty to you, they didn’t go out of their way to air their dirty laundry in front of guests. 

Unfortunately, it seems like Michael doesn’t have that same decency.

Sensing Isaac’s discomfort, you decide to engage his father in conversation and take some of the attention off him. 

“So, Isaac tells me you’re a lawyer,” you say. “I heard you’ve handled all sorts of big cases before. I’ve always felt like it’s a very high-pressure job, especially for the lawyers that actually go to court. I’m amazed you can keep your calm in front of so many people. That’s really impressive.” 

You figure that stroking his ego is probably the best way to appeal to him, and thankfully, it turns out that you’re right. 

Michael clears his throat. “Yes, well, there’s no point in doing a job if you’re not going to do it properly. And it’s also true that not all lawyers can handle going to court, which is why they choose more niche areas of the law. But I find fulfillment in working as a defense attorney and keeping innocent people from ending up in prison. Back when I was younger, I was more enticed by the idea of working as a prosecutor, but I started to see things differently as I grew up.” 

“How so?” 

“Statistically speaking, most criminals are repeat offenders. Which means that even if they get lucky and are found innocent of one crime, they will later commit another and end up in jail regardless. I realized that rather than going after lowlives who would likely be punished at some point or another, my talents would be better suited for protecting innocent civilians from having their lives ruined beyond repair. There’s nothing more devastating than being sentenced for a crime you didn’t even commit,” he mutters disappointedly. “That’s why I’m there to make sure I can save as many people as possible.” 

You nod in understanding. What he’s saying makes sense, and in all fairness, he doesn’t strike you as being malicious or cruel—although perhaps quite strict and old-fashioned—but don’t defense attorneys also have to represent criminals every now and then? 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Michael chuckles. “Over the years, I’ve risen to a reputable position where I can afford to be picky with my clients. I do diligent research beforehand to determine whether it is truly someone in need of help, or a criminal looking to get away with their crime. Since I’m a private attorney, I’m not assigned to any cases without my volition. Of course, I realize not everyone is as fortunate to be selective in the way that I am, but this is ultimately the result of my own hard work. I painstakingly built up my career and am now in a place where I can take absolute pride in what I do.” 

You make a point to show that you're listening attentively, even though you can hear Isaac scoffing quietly from beside you. 

“But enough about me for now,” Michael dismisses. He casts a glance over his shoulder. “Ah, there comes Mary-Ann with the food. It smells delicious, honey. I can already tell you’ve outdone yourself.” 

Mary-Ann giggles while setting the plates down. “Save the compliments until you’ve actually tried it first. Anyways, is everyone ready to dig in?” 

You smile and nod, and it seems like Michael wasn’t just trying to get on her good side, because everything really does taste incredible. 

“Wow, you’re such a good cook,” you remark, covering your mouth as you finish chewing. “This is so yummy! It could seriously pass as a dish in a gourmet restaurant or something.” 

“Oh, please,” Mary-Ann blushes, but it’s clear that she doesn’t mind the flattery. 

“Yeah, this is really good, Mom,” Isaac seconds, happily digging in. 

“Mary-Ann has always been an amazing cook,” Michael says, eyes full of pride. “She probably could have opened a restaurant if she really wanted to, but she’s a woman of many talents and was already preoccupied with her career.”

It certainly seems like they’re still very much in love, which is a good thing, especially for married couples who’ve been together for many years. Still, it’d be nice if that warmth and affection extended to Isaac as well. You really wish his father was kinder to him. 

It’s quiet for a while, since everyone’s busy enjoying the first few bites, but you suddenly notice Michael’s gaze lingering on Isaac, and after swallowing his food, he scowls.

“You’re still wearing that earring,” Michael remarks in disgust. “Didn’t I tell you to get rid of it? People will get the wrong idea about you. It helps that you finally have a girlfriend now, but still. You’re going to be a doctor, for crying out loud. Put some thought into how you present yourself.”

Isaac narrows his eyes. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I’m still young. It’s not like I’m going to start working as a doctor anytime soon.” 

“People that see you for the first time will think that you’re shallow and cheap. You look like you’re supposed to be some kind of male stripper.” 

“And how would you know what a male stripper looks like?” Isaac challenges. 

Michael’s face turns dark red in an instant, and he slams his fist on the table, making the plates and cutlery rattle.

“Watch your goddamn mouth,” he warns. “I refuse to be disrespected in my own home. Not to mention in front of a guest.”

The tension is so thick you could probably cut it with a knife, but to you, this is more than just an uncomfortable dinner. This is a job, which means you need to remain professional and not let any of it get to you. 

“I think Isaac looks handsome no matter what,” you decide to interject. “He can pull off all kinds of things that most people can’t. But he clearly gets his good looks from both of you. I can’t help but be jealous of his genes.” 

Once again, empty flattery seems to be your escape, and Michael chuckles awkwardly, perhaps a touch embarrassed, but at least he’s not berating his son anymore. 

From underneath the table, Isaac squeezes your hand. You agreed beforehand that it was okay for him to hold your hand and hug you, so that your relationship didn’t look too stiff or forced, but this time, he isn’t doing it to put on airs. 

There’s a faint blush on his cheeks, and his eyes are full of appreciation. He even mouths a silent ‘thank you’.

You blink a few times. 

Was it really that big of a deal? I’m sure anyone else would have done the same. His dad keeps grilling him for no reason, and I feel uncomfortable being trapped in the middle. 

You suppose he’s probably not used to having someone be by his side while he has to deal with his father. At the very least, it seems your presence here is making somewhat of a difference. 

“You asked me a few questions earlier, so now it’s my turn to ask you,” Michael suddenly says. “Are you and Isaac roughly the same age? Are you still in school, or have you already graduated?” 

Well, it looks like it’s finally time for this part of the night. The part where you’ll have to seamlessly answer every question they throw your way. 

But it’s fine. You practiced for this. You studied all the information Isaac sent you as if you were preparing for an exam, and you’ve got all your facts memorized. Michael is a lawyer, so he’ll probably be looking for holes or inconsistencies in your story, but it doesn’t matter. 

You promised Isaac you’d be the best girlfriend he could ever ask for, and that’s exactly what you intend to do. 

“We go to the same university,” you reply confidently. “Actually, we’re in the same major too. That’s how we met. We have a class together. Isaac is always really on top of all the material, so he helped me study a bunch of times.” 

Michael looks rather pleased to hear that. “Oh, really? That’s good. I was worried he wasn’t keeping up with his studies, but I’m glad he’s been taking it seriously. So, you also plan on becoming a doctor?” 

“Yep! I know it won’t be easy, but I want to help people as much as I can,” you beam. 

“It’s great that you have so much in common,” Mary-Ann remarks. “Medical students have a big workload, so it’s nice that you can relate to one another. Even better if you can help each other study.” 

“Have you already taken the MCAT?” Michael asks. 

“I did,” you nod. “I passed it and got a pretty good score, so I’m just waiting to hear back from the medical schools I applied to. Hopefully Isaac and I can both start next year. It’d be nice if we ended up at the same school too.” 

“Perhaps it’s better if you go to separate schools,” Michael frowns. “Medical school isn’t easy for anyone, and I worry you might end up getting distracted. Maybe you’ve got a strong work ethic, [Name], but Isaac is prone to slacking off.” 

What slacking off? He told me he scored in the 90th fucking percentile, which means he’s all but guaranteed his top medical school choices.

You strain a smile. Honestly, it’s exhausting constantly seeing parents hold their children to ridiculous standards. You and Isaac have a lot in common in that sense. No matter what you accomplish, no matter how hard you push yourselves, it feels like they’ll just never be satisfied. 

“I’ve never seen Isaac get distracted,” you insist. “He’s probably got the best grades out of our entire senior year. Anyways, even if attending the same school would be nice, I think we’ll be fine no matter where we end up. We’re both willing to put in the effort.” 

Mary-Ann nods happily. She’s clearly the more easygoing of the two. She actually seems quite nice, all things considered. Michael is the real hard-ass around here. You just hope you’ve done a good job of convincing him so far.

“I guess medical school is still a ways off,” Michael acknowledges, taking a sip of water. “But I’m glad you scored well on the MCAT. It sounds like Isaac’s finally found himself a good girlfriend. You’re open to marriage, I take it?” 

Isaac tenses up. “Dad, please—” 

“Quiet. I was asking her, not you.” Michael turns back to you and smiles. “Well? I hope you’re not part of that new, incredibly stupid fad where young adults such as yourself choose not to get married. It’s very sad to see how people these days view marriage. If you’re not willing to commit to marriage, then really, do you even value the relationship at all?” 

“We’ve barely been dating for over a month,” Isaac grits out. “Don’t you think you’re freaking her out with the marriage talk? I’m sorry, [Name]. He’s clearly getting carried away.” 

“I’m not speaking as if the two of you are getting married anytime soon,” Michael sighs. “I just want to know what her take on marriage is in general. I want to make sure she doesn’t have twisted values like the rest of the younger population these days.”

Isaac is visibly uncomfortable, scratching incessantly at the back of his head. It must be some kind of nervous tic. He’s done it a couple times this evening. Poor guy clearly wants to get the hell out of here.

But you’re not about to get worked up over Michael’s intrusive questions. All of this is pretend, and thus far, you have yet to actually divulge any real facts about yourself. He doesn’t truly know what kind of person you are. He’ll probably never know. 

So, you smile, completely unfazed. 

“Of course marriage is important. If I’m confident about spending the rest of my life with someone, what reason is there not to get married?” 

Michael doesn’t respond verbally, but he nods and smiles, clearly pleased. All evening, you’ve done your best to appeal to him and convince him that your relationship with Isaac is the real thing, and he doesn’t seem suspicious in the slightest. 

Still smiling, you lean over and rest your head on Isaac’s shoulder. He knows exactly what you’re getting at, so he smiles back and wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. 

Both Michael and Mary-Ann watch with approving gazes. The tension has finally dissipated, and everyone is content. 

It looks like you might be better at this than you first thought.

“I’m bored of this relationship. Let’s break up.” 

Callum blinks lethargically. His pale gray eyes feel heavier by the second, and even though most people would normally be taken aback to hear those words spoken to them, at this point, it doesn’t even faze him anymore. 

“Didn’t you hear me?” his girlfriend—or rather, ex-girlfriend repeats. “I’m breaking up with you, Callum. I’m serious this time.” 

Yeah, right. 

How many times has she broken up with him by now? He’s honestly lost track. It always comes out of nowhere too. It’s as if she’s trying to catch him off guard or something. 

“Okay,” Callum shrugs. “I know it’ll blow over before long anyways. It always does. I bet you’re just in a shitty mood. Did your period come early?” 

His ex scowls, visibly disgusted. “It’s because you say those kinds of things that I don’t want to be with you anymore. You’re such an asshole.” 

“Come on, Nadia. Don’t act like we haven’t had this same conversation a million times by now. You always do this. So, I’ll give you space or whatever until you cool off. There’s no need to get so worked up.” 

“I said I was serious this time. I’ve wasted enough of my life on you.” 

With a derisive sneer, Nadia swivels around and struts off. The whole while, Callum watches with his hands shoved into his pockets. He doesn’t feel even a twinge of worry, because he already knows how this little game will end. She’s never once been serious about breaking up. Why should this instance be any different? 

But for the first time, he feels something other than indifference when it comes to being broken up with. 

He’s actually kind of pissed off.

Nadia’s been getting a little too carried away lately. She seems to think that just because he’s mellow and laid-back, it gives her the right to walk all over him. It’s a tiresome routine, and he’s gotten pretty sick of it. 

Even though he knows Nadia will come back to him, just like she always does, perhaps it’s time to teach her a lesson.

As chance would have it, he’s been hearing a lot of buzz about a new app recently. Some kind of companionship service that allows people to hire someone to act as their significant other for a period of time. 

Partner For Hire. Yeah. This is the one. 

Having downloaded the app, Callum proceeds to scroll through its catalog and see what it has to offer. Just as advertised, it looks like all kinds of people are offering their dating services at a certain price. Some assholes are charging ridiculous numbers just for a single day’s worth of fake dating. It’s actually kind of unreal, because as far as Callum is concerned, they’re really nothing special.

“No, no, no,” he repeats, scrolling endlessly through all the options. “God. None of these chicks are even that cute, and they expect me to blow a fuck-ton of cash on them? Get real.” 

Honestly, he’s kind of disappointed by how mediocre the options are. Then again, he figures it’s mainly losers that use this app. People that are too pathetic to be in a real relationship. 

The more he scrolls, the more discouraged he feels, because he doubts any of these women would be able to make his ex-girlfriend jealous. She has no reason to feel threatened over a downgrade, and none of these uggos are going to get the job done. 

Just as he’s about to toss his phone aside and consider another approach, he stumbles across a profile that actually catches his eye.

“Whoa,” he blinks. “She’s hot as hell.” 

Callum nods approvingly. Yeah. If it’s with someone like you, then even Nadia would have to reconsider her shitty choices. He’s already got a huge smirk just imagining how horrified she’ll be when he shows up with his “new” girlfriend in tow. 

Looks-wise, he’s hit the jackpot. There’s no guarantee that you’ll actually be up to his standards, but hey, he figures it doesn’t hurt to give it a try. 

More importantly, if Nadia sees you with him, she’s guaranteed to lose her shit. 

“Maybe next time you shouldn’t be so quick to break up with me,” he chuckles coldly. “Stupid bitch. You’ll be begging for me to take you back by the end of this.” 

[𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭?]

>> [𝐘𝐄𝐒]

prologue | story masterlist | next

Enjoying the story so far? More chapters are available on Quotev!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

🦋 main masterlist ♡ character appearances

[ideasarestuckinmyhead]

Hello! I really liked the short story you wrote of Seth and Al’s reaction with sb’s ex, so I wanted to ask if you could do one with Finn and sunflowers’s toxic ex?

Oh, ew it's you again.

TW: toxic ex, mentioned past stalking, mentioned death threats, past break up, idk how to feel about this bc of writer's block hopefully y'all enjoy this!!

"Hey Finn, I got your shirt-" Greeting their boyfriend, Sunflower looks up and sees their ex. With Finn looking very uncomfortable, using the shopping cart to have space between them.

"(Y/N), great your here-" Smiling at them, Sunflower sighed loudly and reached for their phone. "Wait- no please don't call the police-"

Trying to speak again, panicking the ex tries to reach for them. But Finn pushed the shopping cart into her, causing the woman to glare at him. Continuing to call the police Sunflower smiled a bit as Finn blocked them from her line of sight.

"I have a restraining order against you. So, yes, Aliyah I'm calling the police. This is what the third time you've tried to do this shit." Rolling their eyes, Sunflower smiled at Finn who got in front of them. He tried his best to look intimidating, the blonde even started moving them to where more people where.

"Come on, Sunflower. Let's go over here. In case she tries to do something to us." Whispering, Finn gently guided his partner to the check out area. A few shoppers around them heard the commotion and started watching a bit.

"I still can't believe you got that stupid restraining order! It's just a paper! Plus I didn't mean any of the threats I told you! Come on you know I love you-" Rambling Aliyah tried grabbing for you again and Finn slapped her hand. Causing the ex to freeze and look at him like he was the crazy one.

"Yes. I did just hit you. Back up, you don't have any right to be by my partner or me. You sent them death threats because they broke up with you. So, if you do try to touch MY partner again, I will hit you." Calmly explaining, Finn saw the stores security coming to them. Some bystanders started telling Aliyah off and Sunflower just smiled as it all went down.

Store security dragged Aliyah away and some of the people asked if the couple were okay. Being tired Sunflower let Finn explain the situation, how Aliyah has been trying to contact them over the years after the break up. How there was stalking, death threats and gifts sent to them to the point they had to move like three times.

The police showed up, everyone who saw Aliyah go to Sunflower gave a statement and the ex was ushered away. Finn held the bags of stuff they were there to originally buy before being interrupted rudely. Walking to the car, the couple check it to see if anything was tampered with.

"Hopefully, this time she'll get it through her fucking head I don't want her." Grumbling, Sunflower got inside and sat in the passenger seat. Tears weld up in their eyes, they were so tired of this shit. Finn frowned and pulled out the snack he bought to cheer them up.

"I know, but she did get arrested. Let's just go home and relax then figure this out tomorrow okay?" Sunflower nodded at his words. That seemed like a good idea, seeing Aliyah again on a nice day just threw them off. Looking at Finn they started crying, causing Finn to panic. However, these were happy tears.

"I'm so glad I found you." Sniffling out, Sunflower leaned to Finn and hugged him tightly. Gently comforting them, the blonde patted their back. "God I hate ex's."

This caused Finn to snort and nod, thinking about his own sighing as he out the part in reverse. Pulling out of the parking lot and heading to his house, Finn continued to try and lighten up Sunflower's mood. Sitting in the car looking at the glasses wearing man, Sunflower smiled, happy they got at least a sane partner compared to their shitty ex.

[youling-the-ghost]

So I'm officially obsessed with the idea of traumatised sfth children (Johnny & Janae, Peter Steven, Jack a.k.a Sisyphus kid, Alexa & Janusz, etc.) forming a little support group and living in an orphanage together now, so here are a bunch of character dynamic headcanons:

Johnny and Janae were practically joined at the hip in the beginning. Johnny would not talk at all, and although Janae spoke, their words were very sardonic and harsh. It took months of therapy for them to warm up to the others.

Peter seemed the most well-adjusted and friendly out of the children, but he would occasionally have these intense mental breakdowns where he cries about being worthless and no more than a burden than those around him.

Jack was very confused as to why he was there since he didn't quite understand what happened with his parents. He wore his yellow jacket all the time because it reminded him of his time with his parents, and he'd sometimes talk about his home life in gruesome detail, not knowing how traumatic those memories really were.

Similar to Johnny and Janae, Alexa and Janusz were next to each other pretty much all the time. The two seemed to always be in their own little world, and they rarely interacted with the others.

Peter and Jack were the first ones to become acquainted at the orphanage since both of them came alone, and it was Peter who helped Jack adjust in the beginning when he missed his parents.

Janae tried explaining to Jack what really happened with his parents once, but was stopped by Johnny at the last minute.

Johnny is really popular amongst the children because of his premonition dreams and Peter has compared him to a superhero multiple times.

Janae was very distrustful of the adults taking care of them at first and always insisted on not needing help for themself and Johnny. Although they still don't trust the staff, they're fine with Johnny being taken care of by others now.

Alexa has a very complicated relationship with ballet after what happened. There are days where she insists on performing ballet for the others, and there are days where simply looking at her ballet shoes brings her flashbacks.

Janusz had a constant impulse to help clean the orphanage, so he could often be found dusting the floors or wiping down dusty furniture or washing dishes. He was told by the caretakers that he didn't need to do it, but he insisted on being useful.

The others love hearing about Janae's inventions even if they don't understand more than half of what they're talking about. There are nights when everyone sneaks off to Johnny and Janae's room just to play with the inventions, and Janae was more than glad to explain the functionality of each one, with Johnny adding comments when he actually understood what they were talking about.

After they became closer, Janae began modifying Peter's figurines to make them fly or shoot lasers from their eyes or something similar. Peter's first request was for Janae to make the legs on a Barbie doll that he loved shorter, though Janae refused.

The children have "stand-up nights" where they sit in a circle and take turns telling jokes and funny stories that they came up with. Alexa loved those days because she could tell all the jokes that she wanted.

[ringsreforged]

Season 2, Episode 6 - Nat's Rambles

Okay – SO – Paulina is still on holiday, and I’m obviously DYING OVER HERE (Natalie, in case you hadn’t guessed) so TUMBLR. I HAVE RETURNED.

Truly though, I don’t think I’ve done this since S4 of The 100 which probably aired 100 years ago at this point…what has this show done to me…

ANYWAY. My immediate thoughts on Season 2, Episode 6: WHERE IS HE???????

Paulina Voice: All opinions herein have nothing to do with me, so only judge Natalie for them.

Important Note: I have only watched once, in a haze of stress and emotion, so I reserve the right to delete all of this later if I change my mind on any of it.

Arondir – Hello! Nice to see you! Glad you’re joining us for the battle!

I did like the detail of confirming that not all the orcs are on board with Adar’s war, but I was mostly laughing that ‘running through the trees’ is how the show has reminded us a character exists for two weeks in a row.

Rhun – I think this was the first episode where I was like GO AWAY, RHUN, NOT NOW. Though, I want to stress that I am super excited to see the conclusion of this, probably in episode 8. The Dark Wizard, the Gaudrim, the fate of the Stoors (honestly, I’m assuming they’re all going to be massacred tbh…which…the optics…but we’ll worry about that later…). In today’s episode, it just felt a bit like ‘hey, these characters still exist.’

I did love the little snippet of Tom and the Stranger, though I felt like it could have just been included in their previous scenes. He is 1000% Gandalf, and I stand by my opinion that this isn’t supposed to be a twist or a surprise. It’s just the narrative telling the story. Destiny or friend is super intriguing to me. It’s very Luke and Yoda from Empire, but I do wonder if his destiny IS to choose his friend…and in so doing, THAT is how he finds his staff…

Nori talking with the Gund was very sweet, and her willingness to give herself up to protect everyone was super in character. Poppy and Merimac were cute (I pray to all the gods that THIS was the kiss Morfydd teased but I doubt it very much…), and Poppy wanting to fight for the Stranger made me pretty emotional. However, I have some bad news…

Guys…I think I’m adding Poppy to DEATH WATCH. And I HATE IT. BUT I CAN’T UNTHINK IT.

Moving on…

Numenor – This continues to be the choppiest of storylines this season, but I do think the broad elements are super on point. And, actually, where we end up makes the Eagle sequence make more sense in retrospect. Pharazon didn’t have things locked down, Miriel is very much still a player on the board, and Mr. Eyebrows is THE BIGGEST HYPOCRIT.

Then again, if you told me I’d see Halbrand in the Palantir I’d probably touch it too…

Ahem. Loved that detail by the way! Part of the reason I felt like Halbrand would be his Numenor form was the small scene he shared with Pharazon back in S1, while Galadriel was taking out the guards. A connection was formed then – perhaps his eyes even bored a hole – and if Halbrand rocks up as an enemy of the elves, that’ll only make him more appealing.

Everything with Miriel and Elendil was absolutely stunning. He was willing to give his life for her, she was willing to give hers for his. WHAT ABOUT MY HEART. Honestly, from the way Owen and Cynthia talked about this season, I felt like they weren’t going to get anything at all romance coded. But I’m just starting to think people in TV only see active kissing as romance, because HELLO?? THAT’S THE SCRIPT????? THAT IS ABSOLUTELY ROMANCE????

I’m very excited to watch the sequence with the sea worm again, and to really let it wash over me (heh), because I was starting to get time anxious at that point in the episode (my brain starts panicking ‘don’t end, don’t end.’ Honestly, my brain SUCKS). But it was incredible, the implications were wonderful, Elendil’s relief was beautiful, and so was Pharazon’s rage. Also, the whole sequence was UTTERLY STUNNING, WOW.

Note for the show overall, or maybe just for myself, though – PLEASE stop spoiling so much of the season through promotional material. My biggest gripe with this episode is that I felt like I’d already seen/put together 90% of it.

Anyway, I’ve left Earien until last because this was a MUCH better episode for her (though, not letting her have any reaction to Valandil’s death was CRIMINAL). To the point that I’m now reforging (heh) my thoughts on last week – who directed her to have such bratty energy last week? Weird.

Anyway, we saw much more of her conflict and fluidity in this episode. She isn’t Faithful, she believes the new order is the way to go, but she’s also struggling massively with it. Her desperate hug with her father broke my heart, I had instant tears in my eyes, but then I also cheered when she brought Miriel in! What a great surprise that was! I’m REALLY interested to see where she goes from here…I’m assuming in the finale? I was sure she was locked onto a super dark path, but she witnessed Miriel survive the Valar’s judgement…will that sway her back around?

I’m going to finish this section with something that’s maybe a bit controversial…Elendil sucks as Earien’s father!!! Now, I’m willing to put this on pacing/editing issues, because I don’t think the show really wants us to feel this way. But good god, man. HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH YOUR DAUGHTER. I really enjoyed their cell scene, but sweet lord baby jesus, these two needed a deep conversation in episode 3. Watching him turn to go when Miriel walked in, and just forget Earien was even there hurt me man…even though I enjoy the Miriel aspect VERY much…

Like, I know you’re mad at her, but you’re all she’s got left…and your pride might mean she watches you die…can you be a little kinder to her???

Dwarves being dwarves, AKA perfect – Flawless. No notes.

The initial sequence with the Durin’s and Annatar was PERFECT. Annatar being rejected (that Balrog glimpse was SO EVIL), and Baby Durin’s flicker of hope. But then the reveal that Daddy Durin is deep in the shit because he’s really just being greedy. My gooooodnesssssss. The show has done SUCH A GOOD JOB setting this up, because we know Daddy Durin isn’t this way! We feel Baby Durin’s pain!

Then Daddy Durin has his IT’S MINE moment with the ring and swats his son away. Anguish. And the anguish only anguished harder when we cut to Durin and Disa. Disa talking about her love for her father-in-law, and her own father, and then DURIN’S TEARS. UGH. UGH. UGH. I was weeping, honestly.

I feel like Durin being suss of the rings this early on is a pretty big change (don’t quote me on this) but I’m for it. Watching Disa turn back Narvi and the others (poor Narvi) was beautiful and then that I LOVE YOU. UGH. UGH. UGH. PERFECT, I SAY.

I doubt Disa has anymore bats to summon, though, so IDK how the heck they stop what’s coming next. Is Durin going to get drawn away by his desire to help Elrond, leaving Disa alone and vulnerable?

I REFUSE TO PUT DISA ON DEATH WATCH, SHOW. I REFUSE. DON’T YOU DARE.

Adar and Galadriel – I wish we’d gotten more, especially because they released a clip yesterday that I obviously couldn’t resist watching, but what we got was JUICY.

I felt that Adar knew Halbrand was Sauron back in the premiere, or at least suspected it. Getting that confirmation paints their scene with the talk of the wine, the tears, and the kneeling in such a different light. TASTY.

I’ve seen people question this, because why did Adar not try and kill him there and then? To my mind, that’s pretty straightforward. He killed him once and it didn’t stick. And last time he had the element of surprise. He knows that Sauron is powerful enough to get out of his chains/to not get caught by orcs, which means he’s here for a reason. If Adar tries to kill him, best case scenario Sauron is off the board for another few centuries, but he’ll likely take down some orcs with him on the way out. And for what? For him to just come back again?

I think Adar decided to play the long game. I think talk of Eregion and Galadriel let him know that something more was going on, and he was biding his time to act.

So, Sauron promised Adar children. Honestly, the Adar/Sauron/Galadriel dynamic that played across this episode was the stuff of my dreams. Adar is holding his own relationship with the fella up against hers, and there’s so much subtext for both dynamics. Was there romance between both? Was it solely manipulation for both? Is Adar what Galadriel might become if she succumbs?

Galadriel definitely wasn’t being entirely truthful with Adar when she mentioned that Sauron promised an army, because that was more what she thought she could get out of Halbrand. And yes, sure, Sauron might have nudged her that way. But Sauron’s true offer came later on the raft, after the army had been delivered. Adar even acknowledges that she’s not being truthful, that she needs to let go of her pride. I feel like we’ll see that play out over the last two episodes for sure…

The line that really stuck with me from a Hal&Gal perspective was Galadriel finishing Adar’s line about the world with Sauron being full of colour, and without him it’s a dull grey. It fits with how Galadriel has come across to me this season. Since Elrond shut her out, she hadn’t had anybody to open up to, and she’s certainly not being fully honest with herself yet. That dull grey speaks to how she’s mostly been…quite contained? The only moments where she’s truly come alive were with Nenya, and when she was fighting.

Later in the episode, she DOES put aside her pride. She calls Adar Uruk!!! She opens up and sees the possibility of an alliance. And I think this goes back to Sauron too. She’s had a taste of darkness and the temptation of it, she knows she’s not secure from succumbing, and so her perspective of Adar – who was once an elf – has massively shifted. However, when he asks if he and his children will be able to return to their home…we all know the answer to that.

I actually never stopped to consider that Adar would be the one manipulating/tricking Galadriel, which is silly in retrospect. Because this much better explains how she ends up in a cage facing the elves (sorry guys, I don’t think she’s bait for Sauron…she’s facing the wrong way…). I’m looking forward to watching this bit again, as I feel it was a bit rushed on first watch. I would have liked to see these two chat for a good two scenes more, honestly.

Adar is falling into the trap, which is pretty devastating, and Galadriel is the one seeing through it. Honestly, I really don’t know how things roll out in the finale. I flip from it making no sense for it to be a S1 rehash, to being sure she’ll defiantly resist, to being sure the show is setting her up to not be able to. I JUST DON’T KNOW. I wish I’d never seen those stupid leak spoilers…the promo makes me think they are real, but then we MUST be missing full context.

Adar is still on DEATH WATCH but like…a little bit less than before, honestly? Mostly because I don’t see how we have time to get ALL the confrontations into the last two episodes. When Adar goes out – and he will – he deserves the biggest death.

Random aside: I am pondering sharing something of a Haladriel ramble/rant but I’m also like…IDK if I want the hassle, so we’ll see.

Celebrimbor and Annatar

Oh, Brimby. My heart aches. The sequence with him forgetting Mirdania’s name was so heartbreaking and watching Annatar isolate him so completely was chilling. First, by taking away the other smiths, then with the illusion.

I actually don’t think I have a lot to say on this section, because it’s been rumbling along all season and we’re just about to reach the climax. Sauron is Sauron’ing his hardest in this episode.

I am now quite convinced that Mirdania is not Celebrian (I already didn’t really believe it, but it’s firmer now) and I do think she’ll die. I think she’ll either be killed by Sauron himself, or she’ll be caught in the crossfire of the siege, and as she dies she’ll make eye contact with him and he’ll just coldly leave her. I feel like there has to be some sort of climax to the whole…you look like Galadriel thing, but I’m not really sure what that could be?? I don’t think there’s going to be a lot of time next episode, so maybe that really was a one and done so the viewer understood he’s thinking about her…

Celebrimbor trying to snap on Annatar, and that flash of true rage in Annatar’s face…oh god, next week is going to be soul destroying. I honestly can’t wait and dread it at the same time. Celebrimbor has fought so hard but then comes the illusion, then comes the lure – more talk of the Valar, of his work, of Feanor and the Silmarils. CELEBRIMBOR. GET OUT, PLEASE. GET OUT.

Sauron was then absolutely buzzing at the end there, as war came, and I wonder if there are more twists to come or if things play out fairly straightforward from here. We know the elves will charge the orcs. Does that happen straight away? Is there any communication? Because it’s complicated, isn’t it? On one hand, let Adar and the orcs try to take our Sauron…but then, you know innocents are being killed. You have to save them, surely?

And that’s that, I think? PHEW.

I must say, it’s harder to get through this season being in fandom because I KNOW SO MUCH MORE and I WANT SO MUCH MORE and people STRESS ME OUT. But, at the same time, it feels nice to love something this hard again?

Let’s get episode 7 and [redacted] out of the way fast, though, yeah?

[666writingcafe]

Hi Anna, can I ask for a make you own Order?

Lucifer - I want you in the most sinful way possible.

Order #5

"I want you in the most sinful way possible." Lucifer

Author's Note: This takes place after the student council play "With Me" in season two. After receiving glowing reviews, MC gets invited to join RAD's Improv Club. At first, they were unsure about joining due to their heavy course-load, but eventually they were convinced to just attend one meeting and see what they thought of it before fully committing to it. This is the story of that meeting.

Even as I stand in front of the auditorium door, there's a part of me that feels like turning around and heading back to the House. Researching the group revealed that they've received a lot of awards and accolades for their performances in their relatively short tenure, and I'm just not sure if I'll be able to perform to that kind of standard.

However, I did make a promise, and I'm not one to go back on my word, so after taking a deep breath, I push the auditorium door open.

"MC!" Before I can fully process what's happening, I'm suddenly caught up in a bear hug. "I'm so glad you could make it! Cheshi said that you seemed hesitant when you accepted her invitation, so I wasn't sure if you were coming."

"I didn't know you were involved in this," I reply once Asmo lets go of me and allows me to breathe.

"Well, of course I'm involved! A lot of the skills I've learned here have helped in so many ways in day-to-day life!"

"But you still suck at active listening!" someone hollers from a distance. Asmo whips his head around and quips,

"At least I'm getting better at it! Your friend Roian over there has been involved for the last fifty odd years, and he still interrupts people to this day!" Asmo focuses his attention back on me and tells me to ignore whoever yelled as he guides me closer to the stage.

There's about fifteen people either on or near the stage. Most of them are strangers, although there's a couple of people I recognize from my classes. Cheshi is standing towards the front of the stage, appeared to be engaged in conversation with...

No way.

"He does this too?" I whisper to Asmo.

"It was sort of a happy accident," he answers. "Lucifer likes to attend at least one meeting of whatever extracurricular activity we engage in to make sure that we're not up to any mischief, but then Cheshi called on him to perform a bit, and he was really good at it. Since then, he's kind of...stuck around." Cheshi's eyes momentarily meet with mine before clapping her hands together, getting everyone's attention.

"Alright, now that everyone is here, we can begin," she states. "We have a potential new member with us today. MC, would you mind joining me on stage?" Is it just my imagination, or did Lucifer tense up when she said my name?

Once I'm standing next to her, Cheshi continues,

"It is customary for prospective members to take part of an initiation game we like to call 'Dummy'. Basically, you will play the role of a puppet, and we the puppeteers. Of course, consent is important, so if at any point you feel uncomfortable with a command given to you, simply say "no", and the game ends. Do you understand?" All eyes are on me.

"Yes." I wish I didn't sound so nervous. Some of these guys look like they're ready to pounce on me. I'm sure they can smell my fear and are salivating from it.

Cheshi smiles at me before focusing on the other members.

"Now, I know it's been a while since the last 'Dummy', so let me just remind everyone that magic of any kind is prohibited, especially speechcraft. This is meant to be a safe space for all who enter, and anyone has the freedom to withdraw consent at any time. The experience is enjoyable only if all parties involved are having fun."

"Sounds like sex." My words cause a couple people to whoop loudly.

"Oh, I like them," someone else states.

"Settle down, everyone," Cheshi kindly orders. Once she has their attention again, she looks over at me again.

"One last thing before we begin, MC: are you okay with people physically repositioning you as they see fit?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Allow me to demonstrate. Koballin, give me a command."

"Do jumping jacks!" Cheshi does what she is told. After a few seconds, someone yells "freeze" before hopping on stage and moving her arms down to make her appear like she's giving someone a hug.

"Move like a ballerina," the demon tells her as he steps away from her. A few more seconds, and Cheshi resumes her former position next to me.

"I mean, as long as I can stop the game at any time, I suppose it would be alright," I tell her. More whooping. This time, Cheshi chuckles, allowing them to settle down at their own rate.

"With that in mind, are you ready to begin?"

~~~

I'm a little surprised that I've lasted as long as I have. For one, this little game is a lot more physically demanding than I was expecting, and there were times where I thought I was going to run out of breath. However, the group seems pretty in tune with my body language, and they know when to pull back--and to push things a bit further.

I also wasn't expecting to have quite this much fun doing this. After all the stress I've been under, it's been nice to not have to think as much for a change. I can just submit to whatever commands are being given to me without worrying about getting hurt or damaging something in the process.

I suspect Asmo knew about this side of me already, given the power he has from being the Avatar of Lust, but judging from the looks I keep catching on Lucifer's face, I feel like this is the first time he's really seen it in action. I mean, he knows that I do try to follow the rules and do what I'm told to the best of my ability, but never to this degree before now.

Coincidentally, he's the only one that hasn't said a word through this entire game, and we've been at it for over a half-hour. Is he unsure what to do with me, or is he waiting for the right opportunity to make his move?

As it turns out, it's the latter, for when I'm in the middle of doing sit-ups, he quietly but firmly tells me to freeze as soon as I'm upright. I can feel my heart beating faster as he hoists himself up on the stage and walks over to me. He leans over so that he's at eye-level with me, and there's something almost predatory about his gaze.

"Stand up, MC." My knees almost buckle beneath me when I do so. His fingers brush against my jawline, and it's almost like he's memorizing the contours of my face. He brings his other hand up and cups my face, forcing me to maintain eye contact with him. Murmurs quickly arise from the others, and I can't blame them. What is he thinking?

"Kneel."

A simple command. Not too difficult. Yet, somehow, my body is frozen in place, not responding to my brain's desperate pleas.

"MC?"

"MC, are you alright?"

"You don't have to continue if you're uncomfortable," Cheshi chimes in. I appreciate the group's concern for my well-being. However, this sudden bout of nerves isn't from discomfort. The expression on Asmo's face tells me that he's figured out why I'm reacting this way. Thankfully, he keeps his mouth shut. I don't know what I'd do if these people I've just met knew the truth.

"MC." My attention is immediately drawn back to Lucifer. The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine. It sounds so commanding, so dominant, so...

"MC." He says it again, and the tension leaves my body, leaving behind a pleasant, relaxed state. Slowly, I kneel in front of him.

"Look up at me." I tilt my head up, my eyes meeting his.

"Good lamb." I feel my face heat up at the compliment. I hear someone quietly comment on my blush, but they sound so far away that they don't even matter. I find myself eagerly awaiting Lucifer's next command.

He gently grips my chin, ensuring that I continue gazing up at him. Not that I would have looked away, but I guess he doesn't want to take any chances.

"I want you in the most sinful way possible," he whispers. He's not using any magic--Cheshi would have called him out otherwise--and yet his words seem to have a hypnotic effect on me. All I can think about is the man in front of me and how much I want him.

"I'll have you begging for release," he continues. "I'll make sure that the only thing on your mind is me."

He releases his grip on my chin, allowing his hand to drift to the back of my head, and runs his fingers through my hair. I'm so close to him now, and all I can focus on is the way he smells.

The way his eyes seem to burn into my soul.

The way his lips look dangerously tempting.

"And afterwards, I'll give you all the love and attention you deserve."

"Get a room!" someone yells, causing the moment between us to abruptly end. Cheshi announces the end of the game, and I nearly trip over my own feet as I bolt out of the auditorium and towards the nearest restroom to compose myself.

It's possible that Lucifer was quoting lines from some Devildom play I've never heard of, and if he was, then he did a marvelous job at making them his own.

"He wasn't faking it." Cheshi's voice startles me, making me jump slightly.

"I apologize," she tells me. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was merely checking on you, and I saw doubt written all over your face. I want to reassure you that his words are genuine." Cheshi places a hand on my shoulder.

"I wasn't too sure about you when you first arrived here in the Devildom for the exchange program, especially when you were making pacts in quick succession to one another. I was like, 'great, another Solomon', but you've proven me wrong." She pauses again.

"I've known Lucifer for a long time, and he's normally quite the hardass, but he softens up whenever you're in the room. He even smiles sometimes, and not the one he uses to scare people into submission. He adores you, MC. Don't you ever forget it." She pats my shoulder and smiles.

"I'm going to let you finish composing yourself, but just to let you know, Lucifer's waiting for you outside. I'm not a betting demon, but I'd reckon he'd like to continue what he started on stage today, but in a much more private setting, if you catch my drift."

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @budbuddnbuddy

[i-can-read-to-him]

The Wesper Fic Club's Author Spotlight is a post series that aims to feature two to three fic authors a month, randomly selected from a pool of names put forth on our server. The authors are then asked to answer three interview questions, select up to five of their fics for us to feature, and finally, recommend three fics by others in the fandom.

(Note: Our spotlighted fics are not limited to Wesper, though they tend to be a central pairing in most of our authors' featured works.)

This week, we are putting a spotlight on Elias's writing!

Socials: @starwritebrekker (Tumblr) | starlightwrite (AO3) | starwritecos (TikTok) | wellelwrites (Instagram)

❀

Part One: Author Interview

Q: What’s your favourite fic you’ve written for this fandom?

A: Do Us Part! It’s my first time writing a modern AU and I’m loving the challenge of finding modern day equivalents to the Crows world.

Q: When did you first start writing? What keeps you going today?

A: I’ve been writing stories since elementary school, earliest I can remember is second grade (seven years old). What keeps me writing is how much writing feels like a release. I’m not very good at speaking what’s going on in my head (see: neurodivergent), and writing it out helps me comprehend my own thoughts more and it helps me communicate my thoughts much better. It is my favorite form of expression.

Q: Who is your favourite character? What do you love about them?

A: Kaz Brekker. This boy is the embodiment of a person in survival mode for most of their life and not truly understanding what it is to come out of it. The world has hardened him but inside him, despite his best efforts, there is still that hope. That heart.

Q: Have you had a chance to interact with the SAB cast? Tell us about your experience(s).

A: Amita liked the photo of my Dregs tattoo on instagram! I love her so much and I’m so glad she interacts with the fandom so much as well.

Q: If you could be friends with any character in the Grishaverse, who would it be?

A: Matthias and I both grew up with organized religion being the backbone of our perspective of the world, so I feel like he and I could get along well. I want to give all the crows a hug (an air hug for Kaz).

Q: What are some headcanons you have that you consider your personal canon?

A: Kaz Rietveld-Brekker is transmasc. Argue with the wall XD. (I am nonbinary transmasc I hold this headcanon so close to my heart).

Q: Are there any songs you strongly associate with a favourite character or ship?

A: Francesca by Hozier is Kanej coded.

Q: How do you feel about your fics being translated into other languages?

A: Go forth and translate (just give me credit please and thank youuuuu)!

❀

Part Two: Selected Works

Do Us Part

Teen | 4.1K | Kanej, Wesper, Helnik Modern AU, Mentioned Character Death, The dog lives In Progress

Part of the Wesper Fic Club Big Bang 2024! The Crows run a funeral home in the suburbs of a modern day Ketterdam. There’s death. There’s a dog. There’s healing. There’s still a dog.

No Funerals

Teen | 10.1K | Kanej, mentioned Wesper, mentioned Helnik Vampire AU, slowburn, Wesper Child, Alby Rollins is there In Progress

There’s a figure that haunts the Barrel at night since time immemorial, he exists in the shadows and watery reflections of the canals of Ketterdam. He was once the undisputed king of the city, and now? He runs a gang of misfits and swindles the merchant council, not even death can escape his cheating. 

Forever Not to Disappear

Teen | 20.5K | Kanej, Wesper Sickfic, slowburn, healing from trauma In Progress

Kaz Brekker is stuck in bed (it’s a bad illness day) and is forced to reflect and process his emotions.

Clouded Judgement

Teen | 441 words | Kanej, Wesper Stream of Consciousness, Wishful thinking, Reflective Kaz Brekker Completed

Post-Season Two finale of Shadow and Bone, Kaz is hoveled up in his room, and his mind never stops moving. Nor does his pen.

❀

Part Three: Author's Recs

I’m The Perfect Stranger Who Knows You Too Well by @remadora-black / actressforever14 (my sister Cassie!)

Teen | 54.9K | Kanej, Wesper, Helnik Jordie Rietveld Lives, Childhood Trauma, Major Illness In Progress

Cassie’s description: What if Jordie did not die of Firepox? What if, instead, when Kaz returned from the Barge, his brother was waiting for him. Firepox would leave them both forever changed, but how will the course of the rest of their lives go? What will happen to Jordie when he realizes his little brother is no longer the boy he knew before, and that he has been left with a shell of a boy with only one thing on his mind: vengeance?

What the Water Gave Me by 19burstraat (astardanced)

Teen | 23.9K | Kanej, Crows friendship Post Canon, Canon Divergence, Angst With A Happy Ending Completed

Kaz as a Tidemaker. Get into it. Kaz as a grisha is extremely my sh*t. 

You’re A Dog And I’m Your Man by limelacroix

Not Rated | 27.8K | Kanej, Wesper Kaz Brekker gets a dog, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Kaz Brekker gets a dog. That’s the whole thing.Also extremely my sh*t

The Unexpected Visitor by insignificant457

Mature 90.9K | Kanej Post-canon, Implied/referenced SA, Implied/referenced sex In Progress

Inej brings one Bastard of the Barrel to the caravans for a family wedding. Hijinks ensue.

❀

Please support our authors by commenting and leaving kudos on any stories of theirs you read and enjoy! Don't forget to also reblog this post and check back soon for our next author spotlight to come.

Interested in joining our server and getting to know our community? Feel free to request an invite via the @i-can-read-to-him ask box.

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Selina: Batsy, I'm glad you help my new cats get spayed, neutered, chupped and let them stay at your house.

Bruce: It's what I do. You're my girlfriend after all.

Selina: Love you too, one issue, three of them are missing. I know because the chips show three at different houses. Did you let some of the kids take care of them?

Bruce: Why... Why are you asking?

Selina: Well I left you with seven of them. Damian said he'd watch them, but-

Bruce (coming up with a lie): You know what, I did let some of them watch the cats. You said three, right?

Selina: Yeah, it's fine though. I trust your kids, but next time tell me, okay babe?

Bruce: That I will, can I see the tracker for a moment?

Selina: Sure. It's connected to the chips and you can see the addresses they're at. Seems Isabelle is with Dick, Astronaut is with Jason and Batsy is with... Hmm Barbara. Huh? Didn't think she liked cats.

Bruce (laughing nervously): That is something she is into. One moment, please.

Bruce runs out of the room with his phone, to a secret room in the manor and sets up a three-way call for the culprits.

Dick: Hey Bruce.

Barbara: Is this important?

Jason: Is it, because I'm busy!

Bruce: Why? Why did you take her freaking cats without asking me!

Dick: ...

Barbara: ...

Jason: ...the only cat I have is Austen.

Two different meows are heard in the background of his call.

Bruce: Let me make this clear, I can tell when you are lying!

Dick (relenting): I'm sorry, she's so cute and precious and makes air biscuits! Damian couldn't take care of all of them so I just decided to borrow her until she has to go home.

Jason: Once he took one I thought he was ri- right and I stepped up and did my civic duty as a hero to take care of astronaut, who is so fluffy and plump! Oh God, did I say that out loud.

Bruce (exhausted, but smiling): You two caved, Barbara what's your defense, you said you didn't like cats.

Barbara: Give me a break Batsy is adorable.

Jason: You took the black hairless one? It looks like a plucked chicken.

Barbara: Sphinx cats are valid cute cats and he like snuggles. I'm snuggling him currently and he's wearing a sweater. I will take care of him until he has to go back with Selina I promise! God he's so cute!

Batsy is heard meowing softly in the background.

Bruce laughs surprising his kids and Barbara.

Barbara: You're not mad?

Bruce: No this is fucking funny to me. You could've taken some in, just ask next time.

Dick: You're not going to let us live this down, are you?

Bruce: Nope. Bring them back next Thursday.

Bruce ends the call while continuing to chuckle.

Bruce: I love this insane family.